


Powers of Persuasion

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 13:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 122,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11624982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: An Unexpected Seduction changes the course of the Quest, the repercussions of which will change the flow of history, and will alter Bilbo's life in untold ways.





	1. The Art of Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is not a new fic! However, I've finally found a few minutes to consolidate the whole series into one fic, which is useful for downloads, etc...also, part 2 is now the timestamps, making it easier to read them, if you'd like. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whatever Gandalf had said to the burglar clearly hadn't worked. Thorin thinks that he may need some additional persuasion.

The knocks on the door interrupting his dinner, the Dwarves tossing crockery around his kitchen, the Quest, the dragon...Gandalf's insistence that he, Bilbo Baggins of all Hobbits, was a burglar, this was all shocking, of course. But nothing was more shocking than the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing, quietly, after the Dwarves had finished their songs and settled in for the night. The smial had settled into its nightly noises, quiet creaks of the timber walls and the snapping of sap from the fireplaces, accompanied on this night by the shuffles and snores of slumbering Dwarves, and at last, Bilbo had begun to settle into sleep himself. The weary, exhausted sleep that follows an emotional roller coaster of a night. 

His eyes snapped open when the door latch had clicked into place, but the shadows in the room hid the person who had entered. Perhaps one of the Dwarves had lost his way? Or Gandalf had decided to attempt another argument to entice Bilbo into joining the Quest? Whatever it was, Bilbo was not in the mood. His frustration had ebbed, but had not faded completely. And now he was to be invaded in his bedchamber as well?

He sat up, shaking the sleep from his brain and demanded, “Who's there?”

The shadow at his door stepped forward, coalescing into none other than Thorin Oakenshield himself, much to Bilbo's astonishment. What was he doing here?

“What are you doing here?” Bilbo asked, the words leaping from his mouth even as his brain formed them. 

Thorin stood, half revealed in the light, and stared appraisingly at Bilbo, still seated on the bed. Bilbo waited impatiently, purposefully not noticing what he'd been attempting not to notice all evening, since three harsh knocks on the door had heralded Thorin's arrival. That is to say, that Thorin Oakenshield was possibly the most striking creature that Bilbo had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. As he'd stood before that same appraising gaze earlier, upon Thorin's arrival, Bilbo had felt his heart pound madly, his knees trembling and his hands sweating, for Thorin was tall, built like a block of solid stone, but finely chiseled nonetheless. His eyes, his beard, his hair, even his clothing-fur and leather and metal in perfect harmony. His commanding presence had been reinforced by the sheer size of him, the scent of night air and minerals that swirled around him as he'd circled Bilbo in the foyer, Gandalf and the rest of the Dwarves watching expectantly. Bilbo had been shaken to his core with the rush of desire that had crashed over him in that moment. It had been tempered by irritation and apprehension, but it had been impossible to deny. 

The encounter hadn't lasted long, Thorin had sized him up and found him wanting in mere moments, turning away, dismissing Bilbo with smirk and a sharp comment. Bilbo had been left standing, stunned, in the foyer, staring wildly at Gandalf as he'd sighed and shrugged before following Thorin and the Dwarves back into the dining room. 

After that, Bilbo had pushed aside the fluttering of nervousness in his gut and followed Gandalf, keeping to the hall outside the dining room, which was filled to bursting with Dwarves, and listening to the discussion of Erebor, of portents and gold and a dragon. The dragon had thrown another lump into Bilbo’s gut, one that had overtaken him even more so than the act of standing over Thorin with a candle, trying desperately to focus his attention on the map instead of the way Thorin's hair curled as it spilled over his shoulder, or the masculine scent that surrounded him. 

When Bofur's ever so helpful comments had filled his brain with visions of fire and death, he had welcomed the sweet relief of oblivion. The night had been too much in the end, and despite Gandalf's admonishments about how he'd changed, how he was a Took, how he was hardly the first Hobbit who had been faced with the opportunity of adventure, Bilbo had retreated to his room, shaken in more ways than one, and confused. He'd wanted to hide, to run and hide himself away until the Dwarves had taken themselves off into the East, and yet, he'd been unable to stop himself from casting a glance down the hallway to where Thorin had stood in hushed discussion with Balin. He would regret it, he knew, never laying eyes on that beautiful Dwarf again, and he had simply needed to stash away one more glimpse, a vision to pull out for future perusal when he was alone and the smial had settled lonely around him in the dead of night. 

And then, as he'd sat and breathed the calm of the night back into his shaken form, it had begun. A humming, deep and rich, resonating into Bilbo's bones, preceding that voice, Thorin's voice. It could be no other, and it had struck a chord inside Bilbo that had never been touched before. He shivered anew as Thorin sang, his voice filled with emotion, dark and measured, and it had washed over Bilbo, filling him up with the same lust that Thorin's presence had awoken in him that very evening. 

It was ludicrous, really. Desiring a Dwarf, especially one that had come uninvited into Bilbo's home, into his life, and had then dismissed him readily, and yet had proceeded to strip away Bilbo's denial without even trying. It was utter folly.

And now, Thorin stood, silently, unmoving as Bilbo's thoughts swirled chaotically inside his head. His eyes never left Bilbo's and if Thorin's presence hadn't shaken him, the intensity of his gaze would have in moments. 

Bilbo swallowed thickly and then stood, demanding again the reason for Thorin's invasion of his private chamber. 

“I've come to persuade you to join us,” Thorin stated simply, unmoving. 

Bilbo scoffed, tearing his eyes away from Thorin's molten blue gaze. “You really believe you can talk me into following you on this insane venture?” he asked, shaking his head at the sheer gall of the idea.

“Who said anything about talking?' Thorin replied, his voice rich with amusement and determination. “I said I had come to persuade you.”

“But, how...” Bilbo puzzled, his brow creased in a frown.

“I've found that talking isn't very persuasive, really,” Thorin stated, finally moving, taking another step toward Bilbo. “And it's not a strength of mine.”

“Then wha...” Bilbo began, his question strangled in his throat as Thorin proceeded to slide his surcoat off, tossing it onto the rack by the door, its presence a contradiction against the fine, delicate fabrics of Bilbo's favourite jackets. 

“I thought I'd take a different path with you,” Thorin said, his long, sure steps bringing him to within touching distance, close enough so that Bilbo tried to take a step back, succeeding not in escape, but in perching himself precariously on the bed.

“Wh...what path?” Bilbo asked, mortified by the high pitched squeak of his voice. Thorin chuckled in response, leaning down, closer, to whisper in Bilbo's ear.

“I can smell it, you realize.” He didn't pull back all the way, remaining close, so close that Bilbo's cheek warmed, whether from the proximity or the rush of blood to his cheeks, Bilbo was unsure. Perhaps both. 

He couldn't bring himself to formulate a response, his ridiculous brain could do nothing but stare blankly up at Thorin, so close now that Bilbo could once again smell him, the scent of pipeweed and ale mixing with the earthiness of earlier. 

“Your desire is palpable,” Thorin continued, leaning in again, nosing along the rim of Bilbo's ear, sending a shudder through him. “It covers you like a blanket.”

He moved even closer then, leaning into Bilbo, his hands resting on the bed beside Bilbo's legs, his cheek pressed flush against Bilbo's now. He breathed deeply, ghosting his lips across the lobe of Bilbo's ear and down over his neck. It was only the faintest of touches, but it was rapidly turning Bilbo into a puddle of need and longing, the intensity of it unprecedented in Bilbo's experience. 

He moved closer still, burying his face into the crease of Bilbo's neck and shoulder, the motion threatening to tip Bilbo back onto the bed, had he not clutched at Thorin in reflex, his hands grasping for purchase against Thorin's leather vambraces. 

Thorin pulled back, far enough to that he could look at Bilbo's face, which was no doubt red and flushed, the immediacy of Thorin's presence stripping Bilbo of all pretence of resistance. 

“You are exceptionally attractive,” Thorin said, his voice a rumble that Bilbo felt in his chest, scarcely able to take in the words. “And I would have you before I leave, whether I succeed in the persuasion or not.”

“Nguh,” was all that Bilbo could muster in response, but it pulled a heady chuckle from Thorin.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he asked, but before Bilbo could attempt an answer, his lips were caught in the warm, wet slide of Thorin's kiss. 

A sharp, desperate sound was wrenched from Bilbo's throat as Thorin filled his senses completely, lips coaxing Bilbo's open, tongue sweeping in to deepen the kiss and before Bilbo knew what was happening, he was being pressed into his bed by Thorin's body, his mouth still drawing Bilbo deeper as he settled atop the Hobbit, arms framing Bilbo's head and shoulders, one strong thigh pushing Bilbo's aside as his hips settled into the vee of Bilbo's legs. He gasped suddenly as Thorin's groin pressed against his own, mortified to realize for the first time, that he was hard and aching, his needy cock pressed into the cage of his trousers, into the matching heat of Thorin's arousal. 

Thorin broke off the kiss, his lips travelling instead across Bilbo's smooth cheek and over his neck, sucking and biting as he rolled his hips with excruciating slowness, the onslaught of lust cresting over Bilbo once more. Thorin's chuckle vibrated into the sensitive skin of Bilbo's neck, causing another shudder to wash over him. He clutched even harder at Thorin, the stiff leather cold beneath his hands. 

Then Thorin pulled back, leaving Bilbo gasping with loss as the cool night air enfolded him again.

“You are beautiful like this, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin remarked, pulling his arms out of Bilbo's grasp, but not backing away. He casually rolled his hips, his erection never ceasing in its slow slide against Bilbo’s own, distracting Bilbo as he removed the leather vambraces first, tossing them aside and proceeding to divest himself of his leather tunic, revealing the softer, thinner one beneath. 

“Shall I strip you bare and see just how beautiful you can be, flushed and sweating and desperate for release?”

Bilbo gasped again as Thorin pressed harder, his groin still in direct contact with Bilbo's as he pulled another layer of clothing away, leaving his chest bared to Bilbo's gaze, which raked over him in a desperate desire to see all, to take in every facet of Thorin's naked flesh. 

Bilbo's head was spinning as he took in the picture above him. Thorin's gaze was intense, his eyes a deep, striking blue that Bilbo had never seen in any Hobbit's face, though blue eyes were fairly common among them. His hair was long, so long and thick, spilling like ink across the pale skin of Thorin's shoulders and chest, skin that was itself covered in inky black hair, shorter and coarser looking than the rest. Bilbo didn't imagine that Thorin had spent much time bare in the sun, Dwarves tended to prefer mountain halls when they could get them, that much he knew. He was quite a few shades lighter than any Hobbit Bilbo had seen bared in such a way, the darkness of his hair and beard, the intensity of his eyes a stark counterpoint to his colouring. Far from being unattractive, Bilbo thought the contrast made him more vibrant, more striking than even Bilbo could have envisioned. 

Thorin's hands went to his trousers now, unlacing the front slowly, his knuckles brushing Bilbo's erection as they moved, making Bilbo gasp in surprise at the contact. He knew that he should say no, that he should push Thorin away, it was only going to complicate things and, after all, hadn't Thorin said he was doing this to persuade Bilbo? Bilbo did not want to be persuaded, it would be better for all involved if he ended it now. He'd determined to do just that, and pushed himself up to sit, reaching to shove at Thorin's chest, to dislodge him, to put an end to this before Thorin bared more of himself to Bilbo's hungry eyes.

Thorin seemed to have read his mind, for just when Bilbo had opened his mouth to speak, Thorin's hand left his laces and pressed firmly against Bilbo's unflagging erection. He squeezed roughly, stroking the length and Bilbo was lost. He collapsed back onto the bed with a groan as all his senses converged on that point, his cock throbbing with need while Thorin's large hand gripped him tightly.

Just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure left, but Bilbo was too far gone now to put up even a token of resistance. All thoughts of denial were gone, if he was being offered an opportunity like this, he was going to take it.

“Your turn,” Thorin said gruffly, leaning forward, his cock pressing against Bilbo's once more. 

“My...what,” Bilbo began, but he was silenced when Thorin's hot, strong hands pulled his shirt from his trousers, slipping beneath the fabric, grasping at Bilbo's skin. Bilbo gasped again at the contact, mentally berating himself for being unable to form a coherent thought as Thorin stroked up his sides, his hands cupping Bilbo's shoulders and squeezing before pulling the shirt up, forcing Bilbo to raise his arms. 

Bilbo shivered as the shirt was dragged over his head, mussing his hair and leaving him open to Thorin's lustful gaze and groping hands. He ran his callused fingers across Bilbo's chest and sides, tweaking Bilbo's nipples and earning a squawk before tracing up around Bilbo's neck, tipping his head back with a firm grip on Bilbo's jaw. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, unsure of what he would have said next when Thorin leaned in further, his whole body pressing Bilbo into the bed as his lips and teeth roamed across Bilbo's collarbone. His own hands had moved of their own volition, sliding up Thorin's arms to grasp his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles flex as Thorin adjusted his grip on Bilbo's head, turning it as he chose, chasing the salt on Bilbo's skin with his tongue. The shock of Thorin's bare chest pressed into his had sent a fresh surge of blood rushing through Bilbo, setting his nerves tingling and his cock pulsing in time with his frantic heartbeat. 

Thorin pressed down harder, the heat of his arousal lighting a fire inside Bilbo as he dug his short fingernails into Thorin's skin. His resistance was long gone, and with Thorin's mouth sucking blood up to his skin across his neck and chest, Bilbo threw himself of the edge at last, allowing himself to do what he'd been wanting all along. 

He cried Thorin's name again, reaching up into his glorious hair and tugging as his legs rose to wrap around Thorin's waist, bringing their bodies closer still. Thorin chuckled against Bilbo's neck, pulling back to rest his forehead on Bilbo's, his breath hot and humid against Bilbo's mouth.

“I thought there was some fire in you,” Thorin said, his voice deeper even than it had been, husky with lust and amusement. “Show it to me.”

Bilbo complied, using his grip on Thorin's hair to pull him down, even as he surged upward and captured Thorin's lips with his own. The kiss became a battle, open mouthed and deep, tongues thrusting and teeth clacking, Bilbo's desire rising as Thorin met his challenge. He squeezed Thorin's hips with his thighs as his hands roamed Thorin's broad back, as far as they could reach, scraping welts into Thorin's skin with his blunt fingernails. 

Thorin's hands followed Bilbo's example, slipping down his chest to tweak Bilbo's sensitive nipples, before reaching beneath him, dragging down Bilbo's back, from his shoulders to his ass, which Thorin kneaded, pulling Bilbo up to gain more leverage for their increasingly urgent thrusting. 

“Enough!” Bilbo cried at last, pushing up on Thorin's shoulders, releasing his grip on Thorin's hips, attempting to push Thorin back with feet on his thighs. Thorin was unmovable, stone solid as he was, but he pulled back to look at Bilbo, eyes dark and lips red. 

“Enough,” Bilbo repeated, still pushing at Thorin's shoulders, ignoring the sceptical look on Thorin's face. “Pants, off!” he declared, reaching down to finish what Thorin had started, tugging ineffectively at the half loosened lacings on Thorin's trousers. Thorin grinned wickedly, acquiescing to Bilbo's determined pushing. He shifted back and brushed away Bilbo's hands, unlacing and pushing his trousers off himself. Both trousers and boots were removed in mere seconds, it was clear that Thorin was well practised in their quick removal 

Bilbo stared, entranced by the sight of Thorin's cock, much wider and longer than any Bilbo had seen in his lifetime, standing proudly out of a thatch of dark, curling hair. Thorin was all but covered in coarse black hair, it spread thick across his chest, thinning up to his shoulders, becoming more sparse as it descended, over back and belly, but the hair surrounding his cock was thicker than the rest, curling tighter.

Bilbo reached out tentatively, wanting nothing more than to touch. The dark pink at the head looked soft, the skin on the shaft pulled snug against its inner hardness. He sucked in a harsh breath when his fingers found their goal, brushing gently across the tip and fluttering down the steel shaft, which jumped in his hand as Thorin groaned roughly. It was as soft as it looked, and yet, as with the rest of Thorin's body, was hard as stone encased in velvet skin. 

Bilbo's grip tightened as his hand began to move, watching with wide eyes as the skin on the shaft slipped up and down with his hand. Thorin's cock twitched again, this time Bilbo felt the head expand in his palm, a sure indication that Thorin was close, much closer than he had seemed only moments before.

“Not yet,” Thorin said, drawing back away from Bilbo and leaning down once more, trailing hot kisses and nipping bites onto Bilbo's neck, making his way quickly down Bilbo's chest before pressing his face into the Hobbit's soft belly, breathing deep as he rubbed his nose over the sparse hair on Bilbo's navel. 

Bilbo buried his hands in Thorin's hair again, luxuriating in the silky softness off it, breathing in the cool smell of night air that arose from it, the fresh scent warring with the heated fragrance of arousal and fevered skin. He groaned and tugged when Thorin's deft fingers made quick work of the fastenings on his trousers, pulling them down far enough so that he could continue to rub his face against Bilbo, his beard soft and prickly all at once on the sensitive skin of Bilbo's cock.

Bilbo cried out incoherently as Thorin's mouth wrapped around his arousal, suddenly, taking him down to the root before pulling up again, with a blissful suction that left Bilbo aching. His climax was approaching, of that he had no doubt...the simple act of Thorin's mouth on him was bringing him to his peak faster than he had anticipated, faster than he wanted.

“Not yet,” he pleaded, echoing Thorin's words, tugging harshly on the hair in his hands. Thorin lifted his head in response, his lips red and swollen with more than their shared kisses, a sly grin turning them up at the edges. 

“As you wish,” he said, giving Bilbo's cock one last swipe of his tongue, tasting the droplet that had formed at the tip before pulling back. He grabbed the waistband of Bilbo's trousers and, in one smooth motion, pulled them out from under Bilbo's rear, up and off his legs and over his feet before tossing them carelessly to the side. 

Thorin caught Bilbo's legs before he could bring them down again, gripping them with his large hands, wrapping his fingers completely around Bilbo's ankles before sliding them down, down, over Bilbo's knees until he was gripping the backs of Bilbo's thighs. There he held, pushing Bilbo's legs until he was bent nearly double, leaving the most intimate places of his body bare and open, at Thorin's mercy. 

Thorin leaned into him again, but this time, there was no barriers between them, nothing but the press of hot skin, the slide of Thorin's cock against Bilbo's, finally. Bilbo groaned louder, stunned by the heat that Thorin gave off...Bilbo thought that if the fire were to go out, he probably wouldn't notice, as long as Thorin's body was pressed into his. 

“Tell me you want it,” Thorin said, bracing himself on the bed, Bilbo's legs draped over his arms as he slid his hands into Bilbo's hair, to hold his head in place, pinning Bilbo under him. “Tell me, or I'll walk away.”

“No,” Bilbo gasped, eyes squeezed shut, clutching Thorin's shoulders with greedy hands. “No, don't...I want it.” 

“You want what?” Thorin rolled his hips slowly, drawing more gasps from Bilbo's slack lips. “Do you want to come like this?” he asked, pressing into Bilbo with more force, more speed, but Bilbo shook his head, panting with a different need.

“No, I...not like this,” he said, opening his eyes to look into Thorin's, so close above him, their heated breath mingling. 

“What then?”

“Take me,” Bilbo begged, wrapping his arms around Thorin's neck, his hair tangled in Bilbo's grasping fingers. “I want you inside.”

“Mmmm, good,” Thorin said, shifting his hips so that his cock slid away from Bilbo's, pressing at him from lower now, the slick, fat tip nudging roughly against the whorl of Bilbo's hole. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

“Yes, yeah...that's what I want, hurry up.” Bilbo was getting desperate, their mutual desire lay heavy in the air around them, the heat from Thorin's body and the feel of his hair on Bilbo's over sensitized skin, the press and thrust of his erection, it all merged together, overwhelming Bilbo with the sudden, unexpected seduction. 

“Good thing I brought this,” Thorin said with a smirk, leaning away from Bilbo long enough to dig a vial of oil from within the pile of his discarded clothing. He wasted no time in uncapping the vial and drizzling some of the fragrant oil, no doubt found in Bilbo's own bathroom, onto thick, blunt fingers, drawing back just enough to slip one finger inside.

“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed, the shock of the intrusion slipping away quickly as Thorin worked his finger in and out quickly, not so rough that it hurt. “Thorin, I...” he gasped, uncertain whether he wanted Thorin to slow down or hurry up, now that they'd reached that point. 

“You want another, don't you?” Thorin whispered as his finger pressed deeper, then pulled out to circle Bilbo's entrance. “ You want me to spread you wide open, wide enough to take my cock inside.”

“Yes, yes!” Bilbo cried, his voice lifting in volume and pitch as Thorin did just that, sliding another finger inside Bilbo, rougher this time. Far from hurting him, it drove moans and grunts out of Bilbo's lips, his cock aching with the anticipation of his fast approaching climax. A third slid in quickly, Thorin as impatient as Bilbo, not wasting any more time than was needed to ready Bilbo for his thick cock. 

Finally he pulled back, after what seemed to Bilbo to be an eternity, although it was far less time than he'd ever spent in preparation before. Pausing only to slick his hand once more, spreading the fresh oil onto his cock with brisk, efficient strokes, Thorin held Bilbo's leg back with his free hand and with the other, guided himself into Bilbo's slackened hole. 

Bilbo cried out again, louder than before, and a fleeting thought passed through his lust soaked brain, that the others must surely have been awoken by now, the smial was hardly soundproof, and knew exactly what was transpiring in Bilbo's room that night. 

Bilbo didn't care. Thorin pressed forward aggressively, splitting him open with a burn that was just this side of too much...too painful, too wide, too intense, but he didn't stop until he was seated all the way, his heavy balls pressing against Bilbo's backside. He paused only for a moment before pulling back and pushing in again, leaning down to spread Bilbo's legs further, changing the angle of his thrusts just enough to hit on that one spot that had Bilbo seeing stars behind his closed eyelids.

“Open your eyes,” Thorin commanded. “Look at me!”

So Bilbo did. Thorin was very close now, his body pressed into Bilbo so tightly that he could feel every tensed muscle in Thorin's torso, could see the brilliance of his eyes more clearly than before. He was helpless against the fury of Thorin's passion, clutching desperately at Thorin's thick neck as he rode out his peak, his aching cock spurting his release without warning, slicking their bellies as Thorin continued to thrust, hard and fast, sparing no thought to Bilbo's tingling nerves and he drove relentlessly toward his own climax.

Just when Bilbo thought he could take it no more, Thorin gritted his teeth against the rumbling roar that began in his chest, vibrating against Bilbo's sensitive flesh as the head of his cock surged inside Bilbo, slicking him from the inside with Thorin's release.

They shivered in the afterglow, muscles trembling with the exertion, their panting breaths a symphony of spent passion. Thorin drew back his arms, allowing Bilbo's legs to drop uselessly, settling around Thorin's hips as Thorin leaned in again. His body was pressed to Bilbo's once more, his face buried in Bilbo's neck, breathing deep as his heartbeat slowed. Bilbo gave a weak tug of Thorin's hair, shuddering with the aftershocks, Thorin's still firm cock holding its place inside him. 

Several long moments passed before Thorin pulled back, his cock sliding from Bilbo's hole, the mess between their bellies resisting with a soft suction before releasing them. Bilbo's hands flopped to the bed, as useless as his legs, his entire body boneless as a result of their frantic coupling. 

“Thorin,” he panted, forcing his heavy eyes to open, moaning regretfully as Thorin backed away and the cool air of the room prickled his skin. Thorin's hand pressed into his chest momentarily before slipping up to grasp his neck, fingers fluttering over the angry red marks they found there, then sliding downwards, swiping across Bilbo's navel, slicking his palm with Bilbo's release. He lifted the hand in question, lapping at the mess with his broad tongue while staring into Bilbo's eyes, his heady gaze not leaving Bilbo's for a moment.

Bilbo's cock gave a twitch at the sight, then another as Thorin moaned deeply, taking in their combined mess and Bilbo's lax body. 

“I knew you would be beautiful like this,” he said, lifting a brow in appreciation. “I'm almost never wrong, but it's still nice to be proven right.”

Bilbo had no response to give, closing his eyes once more as Thorin moved away from the bed. By the sounds that followed, Bilbo knew what he was up to, and his suspicions were confirmed when Thorin returned, wiping the mess from Bilbo's belly with a soft, damp cloth before lifting one of Bilbo's legs and gently cleaning his tender hole. 

Bilbo's breathing evened out, the demands of the evening and his stunning release pushing him towards sleep far more quickly than he'd have liked. Thorin rearranged his limbs on the bed, shifting Bilbo up and tucking the blankets around him. Bilbo's chest gave a twinge at the gentle touches, so at odds to the demand with which Thorin had debauched him, satisfaction warring with regret that Thorin would not be joining him in sleep. 

“Think about it,” Thorin said, his voice low and insistent. “Gandalf seems to think we need you, and I think he might be right.” Bilbo frowned, remembering suddenly the reason for Thorin's visit to his room, forcing his eyes open once more to see Thorin pulling on trousers and undershirt before gathering up the rest of his clothing, picking up his boots before padding across the room to the door. 

“Until next time, Bilbo Baggins,” he said quietly, slipping out the door as unobtrusively as he'd come in, the soft latch of the door closing lost to Bilbo as he succumbed to sleep. 

* * *

Bilbo awoke to silence, the early morning sun dappling his bedchamber in soft light, the warmth of his bed urging him to close his eyes once more and doze for another hour or so. He shifted, an unexpected twinge in his thighs pulling him further from sleep, the empty burn of his backside dragging him further into awareness as he stretched naked under the covers. 

His eyes snapped open with a rush of memory that overtook him. He was naked. In bed. Alone. The events of the previous evening washed over him, the Dwarves, Gandalf, the Quest and more than anything, Thorin. Thorin appraising him before coolly dismissing him, Thorin encouraging the others as he spoke with passion of Erebor, Thorin's rich, velvet voice lifted in song, Thorin, pressing him into the bed and taking everything Bilbo had to give, marking him with tongue and teeth and need. 

Bilbo rushed out of bed, pulling on his discarded clothing with haste before slipping out his door, only to be met with a silent house, the creaks of the wood and the air whistling through the open windows the only sound. He called out, paced through the kitchen to the sitting room, confusion and regret warring with relief as he realized that Bag End was spotless once more, devoid of Dwarves and Wizards and all things unexpected. 

He turned from the window and spotted the contract on the ottoman where he'd left it the previous night, Thorin's name in graceful script above Balin's, the blank space below calling out to Bilbo and in that moment, he knew. 

Whatever lay before them mattered not. He'd follow Thorin Oakenshield wherever he led.


	2. Stress Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks in and Bilbo was done with Dwarves. Journeying with them was far too stressful, and no relief was in sight.

Dwarves, Bilbo thought, were highly overrated. Obnoxious, stubborn, hot tempered, grumpy, oblivious, cantankerous Dwarves. He was done with them. Well, with one of them, anyway. He snatched up another piece of wood for the fire, muttering under his breath as he went.

The past two weeks had been an exercise in futility as far as Bilbo was concerned. The Dwarves were so very different form anything he'd experienced before, and he was having a hard time becoming accustomed to their loud, boisterous ways. They were free in a way even Hobbits weren't and yet, they were also closed off, and Bilbo was having a hard time figuring out where the line was. They were secretive about their language and to a lesser degree, their culture, rebuffing all Bilbo's attempts to learn, which was particularly annoying when they lapsed into Khuzdul, as they often did, leaving Bilbo increasingly frustrated and feeling left out. On the other hand, they were very free with their affections, towards each other and, increasingly, towards Bilbo.

Some of the Dwarves were very friendly, actually...Bofur was always ready with a smile and a joke and a slap on the back, and Kili was remarkably affectionate with Bilbo, wrapping his arm around the Hobbit often, whenever he saw Bilbo frowning or...well just whenever. Fili was often right beside him, teasing Bilbo about his feet or his ears, or whatever unfamiliar part of Bilbo he'd settled on that day. Oin often engaged Bilbo regarding his knowledge of flowers and herbs, botany being something of a hobby for the healer, and Gloin often followed them, waxing poetic about his family and asking pointed questions about Bilbo's.

Ori's attentions were much more subdued, though he was not at all shy, peppering Bilbo with questions about Hobbit culture, recording everything Bilbo said into his journal, scratching runes between sketches and doodles of the company and the various landscapes they'd passed through. Even Dwalin, however gruff and distant, had chuckled at Bilbo's more amusing anecdotes, his glares mellowing as time wore on. His brother was up front and direct, and Bilbo found himself quite taken with Balin's manner. He didn't mince words, but he spoke with a tact and wisdom that Bilbo had come to respect and admire.

None of the Dwarves were terribly distant, far from it, but their differences still left Bilbo feeling like the odd man out, especially since he was still learning the rhythm of their interactions, and how they approached the work load and each other. It left him rather at odds, not being well versed in caring for the ponies, nor well prepared to stand watch or scout the area surrounding their campsites. He was a fair hand at cooking, but Bofur and Bombur had that area well taken care of, and there was much truth to the too many cooks in the kitchen thing.

So Bilbo was left with only one area where he could make a real contribution, and that was collecting firewood. While it didn't make him very versatile, it did allow him some time to himself, which allowed plenty of time for reflection and, let's face it, grumbling.

The one Dwarf who he wanted to connect with, he couldn't. Thorin was utterly standoffish, ignoring Bilbo whenever he could and rebuffing him with a derisive comment when he couldn't. While Bilbo was not foolish enough to believe that their heated encounter that first night meant anything more than a mutual lust and the securing of his services to the company, he had hoped that maybe, just maybe they'd have a chance at a repeat performance. Thorin's words that night, while not filled with affection, which Bilbo had hardly expected or wished for, had been filled with lust and appreciation, and had left Bilbo with the belief that it would be happening again.

But it hadn't. Thorin had scarcely glanced his way, and had not laid a hand on him since that night. Bilbo pushed aside the pathetic thought that he'd followed Thorin because he was horny as hell and wouldn't pass up the chance for another tumble. It wasn't strictly true, after all, despite his initial rejection, Gandalf's words had pushed Bilbo into serious contemplation, and while he hadn't decided to go on the Quest before Thorin had invaded his room and his mind, he hadn't decided not to, either.

The truth was, his life at Bag End had been lonely and rather dull, as comfortable as it was. He was well respected if not very popular, his tendency towards books and maps had been odd for a Hobbit, his fascination with Elves and the history of the wide world beyond the Shire had been downright eccentric, and while he had many friends and various family members willing to keep him company, he'd found that he hadn't much in common with them. Besides, he had never been terribly fond of constant company, another fact which had set him apart from the rest. He'd never managed a serious relationship, limiting himself to fumbles in his youth and short affairs later on, but no one had seemed interested in taking it any further, least of all Bilbo.

He didn't regret leaving Bag End, however often he found himself bemoaning the lack of comfortable beds and seven square meals a day, but sometimes he needed to vent his frustrations. And, as Thorin seemed unwilling to lend Bilbo a hand, so to speak, he'd been left with no choice but to find another outlet. Grumbling didn't have quite the same effect, but it was all there was to be had.

So there he was, gathering a large pile of firewood onto a small tarpaulin and muttering under his breath at the unfairness of it all. For Thorin was as handsome and alluring as ever, his icy attitude had done nothing to change that, and Bilbo often found himself sporting a poorly timed erection. Now was one of those times, unfortunately. Thorin had been in a disgustingly attractive strop all day, having exchanged hushed but heated words with Gandalf on and off for the last few days, their discussion reaching a peak that had left Thorin, well, in a pique of temper. His dark countenance had not made him any less desirable, and after two weeks, Bilbo was becoming hard pressed not to find an excuse to go a little further from camp than was his wont and find a spot where he could relieve himself of his pent up frustrations. Very hard pressed.

He sighed, glancing at the area around him as he decided to do just that. He couldn't go on like this. Not when Thorin had set a precedent of mind blowing orgasms in Bilbo's head before pushing him aside with a scoff. Bilbo couldn't be expected to go without now, could he? Since Thorin seemed unwilling to help out, Bilbo would have to take care of matters on his own.

Tossing the last few dried branches on the tarp, he tied the bundle up, ready to drag back to the campsite, and chose a path. There was a small stream to the east, so he avoided that, heading in a vaguely northwest direction, directly away from camp. After walking for a few minutes he found a depression behind an outcropping of rock, rather like a grass lined bowl. It was the perfect place to tug one off, just enough to set his mood to rights before rejoining the Company.

Bilbo leaned against the rock and sighed, closing his eyes and lifting his face to the dwindling sunlight and just breathing in the quiet for a moment. He was rapidly becoming fully hard, thoughts of Thorin and release spinning through his mind and he palmed himself through his trousers, squeezing idly as he breathed in the cool evening air.

He tugged at the clasps holding his cock inside, eager to pull his aching flesh out and...

“In need of some stress relief?”

Bilbo gasped, his eyes snapping open in shock as he saw just who had invaded his private moment, again. As if he needed his eyes to tell him who it was, his ears had confirmed the voice from the first word.

“Thorin!” he said, his hands frozen on the front of his trousers. “What are you doing here?”

“You ask me that a lot,” Thorin replied, moving toward Bilbo with surprising grace for one of his bulk.

“You call twice a lot?” Bilbo snapped back, his ire rising at Thorin's amused tone, as well as the lust in his eyes. How dare he approach Bilbo like this again, after treating him as an after thought and a burden these past few weeks. “On the other hand, considering how many words we've spoken to each other since we met, I suppose a lot actually fits.”

“Hmmm,” was all Thorin said in reply, stalking towards Bilbo with a predatory air.

“Seriously though, just what do you think you're doing?” Bilbo demanded, standing up straight with his hands on his hips, giving Thorin his best glare and trying not to notice how broad his shoulders were, how intense his eyes, or how the smirk on his lips brought back memories of that same mouth wrapped around Bilbo's cock, or sucking bruises onto his skin.

“I would have thought that was obvious,” Thorin replied, stalking close enough to frame Bilbo's face with his arms, bracing them on the rock behind him.

“Obvious perhaps, but not terribly appropriate, considering,” Bilbo said, shoving at Thorin's chest ineffectively. Bilbo found himself ruing the day that Aule had carved the Dwarves from stone. Irritating, immovable, immutable stone.

“Why not?” Thorin asked, leaning close enough to bury his nose into Bilbo's unruly curls. “You still want it.”

“That's, uh...that's neither here nor there,” Bilbo said weakly, Thorin's proximity was wrecking havoc with his control. The heady scent that Thorin gave off was much deeper and more earthy than it had been that night in Bag End, no doubt a result of constant travel with few stops for bathing. He resisted the urge to breath deeply, or to reach out and run his tongue over Thorin's neck.

“Anyway, how can you be so sure I still want you?” Bilbo asked, immediately kicking himself for giving Thorin such an in. He'd tried to be discreet, but after all, Thorin had figured him out almost as soon as he'd stepped through Bilbo's door. He knew Bilbo had wanted him almost before Bilbo did.

Thorin's deep chuckle vibrated through his chest, and Bilbo's as well, leaving him shaky with need.

“I'm sure,” Thorin said. “Your glares at me these past few weeks have made it perfectly clear, as have your grumbles and this tense line you've worked into your shoulders.” He lifted his hands from the rock and gripped Bilbo's shoulders instead, kneading the muscles at the back of his neck, and Bilbo could not stop himself from letting out a groan of appreciation. He was terribly tense, that much was clear.

“This was the final clue, really.” Thorin reached down with one hand and gripped Bilbo's cock, in much the same way as he had that first night, dragging his palm up and down the swollen flesh.

Bilbo knew resistance was impossible. He wanted Thorin as desperately as he had since the Dwarf had stepped foot into his smial, his cold attitude of the past few weeks had done nothing to cool Bilbo's ardour. Oh, he may not like Thorin very much, as a person, but as a lover...well. That was another thing altogether.

“I thought, uhh...um,” Bilbo began, trailing off as he swallowed heavily, attempting to pull his thoughts together before giving in completely. “You said, that...that night, you said...”

“Yes?” Thorin asked, leaning in once more and licking a broad swath across Bilbo's neck.

“Ungh, I...you said you could smell it,” Bilbo tried again. “Could smell me. My, uh...that.”

“I could,” Thorin mumbled. “I can.”

“Not like you've been close enough to smell me since we left Bag End,” Bilbo snapped, remembering suddenly that he was angry with Thorin for dismissing him so completely.

“You are far too distracting. And not well suited to this level of travel, are you?” Thorin pulled back to look him in the eye coolly, his gaze shifting from lustful to exasperated before switching back again. His shifting emotions made Bilbo's head swim.

“I...uh, perhaps not,” Bilbo admitted. “But considering how you got me to come on this journey, I'd imagine you could be a bit friendlier.”

“Do you want me to be friendly or friendly?” Thorin asked, the emphasis put on the second friendly leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

“Both,” Bilbo stated blankly, tilting his chin up and looking Thorin right in the eye.

“I'm not a friendly person, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his mood darkening once more, and for a minute Bilbo was afraid that he'd pushed too far, that he'd pushed Thorin away altogether. “And as to the other, you could have asked. Having just admitted why you followed me in the first place, I'd not think it too bold for you.”

“I...asked ?” Bilbo exclaimed, pushing Thorin backwards again. “And just when would I have had that opportunity? I'm hardly going to stroll up to you while the Company is eating dinner and ask if you'd like to bend me over the closest log!”

“Mmmm,” Thorin purred, pushing past Bilbo's meagre defences, his arms wrapping around Bilbo's waist as he bit down on Bilbo's neck. Bilbo cried out, whimpering when Thorin soothed the bite with a hot, wet tongue. “That would have been an offer I couldn't refuse.”

“You...you're...insufferable,” Bilbo said, frustrated but unable to put much heat into his words, not when one of Thorin's hands was groping his backside and the other was tugging the shirt from the waistband of his trousers. Once that was accomplished Thorin slid his hand to the front, finishing the job Bilbo had begun and pulling his cock of of his far too snug trousers. Bilbo was unable to hold back a gasp at the feel of Thorin's cool hand on his heated flesh. All thoughts had fled him, all except the immediacy of Thorin's touch.

Although he'd been hoping for it all along, he was still stunned, wondering how he'd ended up hard and wanton in the arms of Thorin Oakenshield for a second time. He'd been angry before, hadn't he?

It was hard to remember, what with Thorin's hand now groping the bare flesh of his rear, blunt fingers rubbing with tantalizing gentleness over Bilbo's puckered entrance, while the other squeezed his cock with not quite enough pressure.

“Tell me now,” Thorin demanded, pulling back to look at Bilbo with hot eyes, his lips red and shiny from their work at Bilbo's neck.

“Hmm?” Bilbo asked, noting with surprise that his hands had left their position against Thorin's chest and were clutching his neck, tangled in his hair, one of Thorin's braids caught up in Bilbo's fist.

“Oh, yes...well, go on then,” Bilbo said absently, distracted by Thorin's touch, one hand still on his cock and the other still pressed between his cheeks.

“That'll have to do, I suppose,” Thorin murmured, his face once again buried in Bilbo's neck. He sucked harder on the skin there, perhaps a little too high up for Bilbo's cravat to cover, but he didn't care enough to stop him. He whined when Thorin's hands left him, one slipping out of his trousers and the other away from his cock, but then he realized that Thorin was undoing his own trousers and pushing up his leather jerkin. Bilbo was clutching a good portion of Thorin's hair, which left a tantalizing patch of his neck completely bare, and this time, Bilbo couldn't resist.

He leaned forward and latched onto Thorin's skin, sucking gently at first, and when Thorin's chest vibrated with a low moan, he sucked harder, letting his teeth play at the skin in his mouth before biting down, eliciting a hiss from Thorin. Encouraged, he moved to a new patch of skin and did it again, Thorin's answering moans spurring him on.

“Mahal, you are full of so much fire for so small a person,” Thorin growled, catching Bilbo's jaw with one hand, tipping his face up and biting Bilbo's bottom lip before thrusting his tongue in, kissing him with fierce abandon. Bilbo gave as good as he got, digging his fingers into Thorin's scalp to keep him close. Thorin pushed him roughly against the rock at his back, and Bilbo gasped into his mouth at the wet, hot slide of their very mutual arousal.

Thorin slid his hands down the back of Bilbo's trousers, lifting him with hands that squeezed at Bilbo's cheeks, kneading as he pressed himself closer, melding their groins into a pocket of need between them.

They continued like that, grasping, clenching, both giving as much as the other, taking what was offered with no apologies. Bilbo was far past delicacy, Thorin had lit that fire in his blood, perhaps not even realizing that the fire he desired from Bilbo was drawn out by his touch, his need.

Bilbo was getting close, oh, so very close, so close he had to stop kissing and gasp for air. The two weeks of wanting without release had taken their toll. The press of Thorin against his body squeezed the very breath from him, but still he could not stop pushing, rolling his hips in time with Thorin's thrusts, pushing them both to the edge, unable to vocalize his pleasure for lack of air, making up for the loss by pulling hard at Thorin's hair.

Then he was coming, hard, so hard, his body tensed and shaking, his legs around Thorin's waist protesting, muscles unused to such treatment. Bilbo couldn't even recall when he had lifted them, lost to Thorin's touch as he was. Thorin gasped into Bilbo's mouth, muttering something in Khuzdul with a thick, low voice, sending shivers up Bilbo's spine as he followed Bilbo into his own release, his cock adding to the slick between them.

“Eru...Thorin,” Bilbo panted, still trying to catch his breath, having more success now that Thorin's grip on him had eased. He held Bilbo in the stillness, both slipping down from their collective high, heartbeats slowing and breathing evening out.

“Let me down,” Bilbo said at last, but Thorin only chuckled and pulled back to look at him.

“You have me in a death grip,” he said, his obvious amusement bringing a flush of embarrassment to Bilbo's cheeks.

“Oh, right.”

Bilbo loosened his legs, letting them slip down Thorin's thighs until they hit the ground, grateful that Thorin still had arms wrapped around him as his knees gave out. When he'd recovered he pulled his hands from Thorin's hair, resting them on his broad chest.

“Ugh, we're a mess,” he said, pulling back further, prompting Thorin to release him. He leaned down and ripped up a patch of grass, using it to sloppily wipe their mingled come off Bilbo's belly before doing the same to his own. Bilbo wrinkled his nose when he realized how much of the mess had soaked into his shirt, but there was nothing for it, really. Anyway, none of them were clean by any means, so it didn't make much difference anyway.

He realized then that they hadn't undressed at all, watching with amusement as Thorin rubbed a new patch of grass against his clothing, taking more care than he had with Bilbo's shirt. It occurred to Bilbo then, the reason why the air had been wrung from him, for Thorin's clothing wasn't quite armour, but it wasn't far from it, either, certainly much more unyielding than Bilbo's Shire made shirt and waistcoat.

He followed Thorin's example and put his clothing to rights, tucking in his shirt and refastening his trousers. He was sore, aching legs, his back no doubt covered with bruises, his neck tender, scraped raw from Thorin's teeth and beard, but he couldn't deny that he was calmer. No longer irritated and tense, he tipped his head back and leaned against the rock face with a sigh, much as he had been when Thorin had stumbled upon him. Or perhaps, had come looking for him.

Bilbo opened his mouth to ask, but the look that had shuttered across Thorin's face implored him to keep his silence. Thorin dragged a hand through his thoroughly mussed hair, attempting to restore normality to his appearance. It would have worked, too, had it not been for his red, swollen lips and the large red bruises where Bilbo had devoured his neck.

Bilbo imagined he didn't look much better, he was certain his neck was a mess of bites and his hair an absolute disaster. He smoothed it down as best he could, giving it up as a bad job when Thorin cleared his throat and took another step back.

“We'd best be getting back to camp,” he grunted, his voice taking on a distance again, so at odds to the heated tones of moments before.

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, sighing. “So...next time, I mean, assuming there will be a next time, I'll try to be more, that is to say...” Bilbo trailed off, knowing what he wanted to say but unsure of how to get there.

“Next time, grow a backbone and ask,” Thorin said, shaking his head and looking at Bilbo with annoyance. “I'm not interested in a meek little bunny who can't stand up for himself or ask for what he wants.”

“I, oh!” Bilbo snapped, his frustration with Thorin's behaviour rising once more. “I'll have you know I'm no bunny, and I'm certainly not meek, however inexperienced with the wide world I may seem to your delusional mind.”

Thorin scoffed, shaking his head again. “I'll believe it when I see it,” he said, turning away from Bilbo in the direction of the camp.

“You could be a little nicer, you know!” Bilbo called after him. If Thorin thought he could tell Bilbo what to do, well, Bilbo would speak his mind right back.

“I'm not nice,” Thorin called over his shoulder. “If you haven't figured that out by now, perhaps there's no hope for you after all.”

He disappeared around a the rock face, leaving Bilbo fuming once more, as irritated as he'd been before their encounter. It appeared that Thorin was going to revert to the distant, taciturn Dwarf he had been since the morning Bilbo had caught up to the Company, sitting his pony with an deliciously aching backside and wondering when he'd be able to get Thorin naked again. Oh, he'd have Thorin naked again, that much was certain, but Thorin had no intentions of opening himself up to Bilbo, even a little. The thought stung. Bilbo knew there was no love between them, they hardly even knew each other and at the moment, he couldn't even say that he liked Thorin. At all. And yet, his gut couldn’t help but twinge at the thought of going back to camp where Thorin would treat him with as much disdain as ever.

He sighed, heading in the direction of the firewood, wondering if he'd be pressed to explain his extended absence or if the other Dwarves would take one look at him and leave well enough alone. This thing with Thorin was becoming more complicated, and the journey had only just begun.

If he wasn't careful, he just might find himself in deep trouble.


	3. Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo Baggins is one big distraction. That is all.

Thorin sat some distance back from the others, smoking his pipe and brooding about the state of his Company. They were cheerful enough, at odds with Thorin's mood. Most of them were gathered directly around the fire, absorbed in the tale being told with bright eyes and wide gestures, a tale told by none other than Bilbo Baggins, Not-Burglar and bane of Thorin's existence. The members of his Company may have fallen under Bilbo's spell, but Thorin had no desire to follow.

Bilbo Baggins was a distraction Thorin could ill afford.

He annoyed Thorin, wandering around camp like a lost puppy, his attention diverted by everything new and unexpected, confusion writ across his features on a regular basis. He couldn't fight, had no weapon to speak of, he seemed to stumble his way through challenges the Dwarves traversed with ease and his awkward attempts at getting Thorin's attention were beginning to grate. The innocence and naivete with which he embraced the wider world would have been endearing perhaps, in another setting, but the Quest for Erebor was no stroll in the woods of the Shire, and it was time Bilbo Baggins pulled his head out of the clouds.

Where was the fire that Thorin had seen in him that first night, and indeed, the second afternoon only a few scant days ago? True, he was unexpectedly alluring, his frame soft and yielding, and yet Thorin had felt the steel that lay hidden within. His too short hair was unruly, mussed by his own hands more often than not, and it framed a pair of pointy ears, far too reminiscent of Elven ears for Thorin's peace of mind.

And yet, he had a charming manner, eagerly engaging the Dwarves with his easy mien and ready smiles. He told a tale well, he laughed readily, he seemed unaffected by the teasing at his expense, and yet there was a studious side to him as well, his fascination with the tales told around the fire and his expressive curiosity about the world had endeared him to the others. The Hobbit had unexplored depths, it seemed, and still he irritated Thorin to no end. He was weak, bones of steel or not, nothing that Thorin had seen so far had changed his opinion, and he couldn't imagine what would. Truthfully, this part of the quest was a stroll in the woods, compared to what was no doubt to come.

What frustrated Thorin to no end was just how easily his head had been filled with their unlikely companion. He was willing to admit, if only to himself, that it may have been a mistake to seduce Bilbo that night in Bag End...there was no telling now if he would have come without Thorin's sexual inducements, but the fact is, now that Thorin had tasted him, felt the fire in him, the wantonness with which he threw himself upon Thorin's desires, he couldn't help but want more. He'd known immediately upon entering the smial that Bilbo wanted him, what had surprised him was that he'd wanted Bilbo in return. There was no accounting for taste apparently. Thorin could not parse his desire, but there it was, and had been there from the moment that Thorin had laid eyes on the little fellow.

Bilbo was a distraction, pure and simple. One, it appeared, he could not rid himself of. Their second encounter had only served to deepen Thorin's attraction, and an awareness of Bilbo's every move, his every mood, had settled into Thorin's very blood.

He had told Bilbo to ask the next time he'd wanted a more personal encounter with Thorin, but two days on, he had yet to speak up. Thorin scoffed to himself, glaring down at his now empty pipe with exasperation, wanting to refill it and give his hands something to do besides reach out for the burglar, but he knew that if he kept it up, he'd run out of pipeweed long before a chance came to refill his stash. Borrowing from Dwalin would earn him nothing but derisive comments about his choice of diversion, and Balin would only look at him with parental exasperation, for all that Thorin was his King and elder.

He dare not ask his nephews, the very thought was laughable. The other members of their small Company would no doubt share readily, but Thorin had already been the focus of far too many knowing looks and smirks from the other Dwarves, particularly since he had returned to camp after the second encounter, well aware that the marks upon his neck were impossible to hide. Fortunately, his status among them and his general unwillingness to bear their teasing, on any subject, had saved him from any well placed comments or speculation. When Bilbo had joined the Company moments later, dragging his bundle of firewood, his clothing rumpled and his cheeks pink from Thorin's beard, the bites upon his neck a clear match to those Thorin bore, it was all the more observant members of the Company could do to stifle their laughter behind pipes, weapons, books...anything at hand, really. No doubt the speculation was rampant, though Thorin had yet to hear a word of it.

Thorin had growled harshly at Fili and Kili in particular, their glee at the obviousness of Thorin's conquest was matched only by their delight in teasing Bilbo without speaking outright of his appearance. Bilbo had borne their gentle harassment with a very forced good humour, though he had seemed as irritable as Thorin that evening , even after his release.

The thought occurred that Bilbo himself would be more than amenable about sharing his leaf, but that would defeat the purpose of another smoke completely. Besides, getting to know Bilbo was not something he wanted to do. It would make everything even more complicated. He tapped the ash out of his pipe and tucked it into his pocket, forgoing another bowlful, determined to take a walk instead, hoping to clear his mind and calm his surging desire for the Hobbit.

Maddeningly, the walk was not successful. If anything, it had only fuelled Thorin's increasingly inappropriate thoughts. Bilbo was a walking contradiction and Thorin couldn't seem to get his mind around him. His thoughts kept bringing him back to the same place, again and again.

He hadn't been walking long, keeping close to the camp as the light of the sun fading into twilight, when he realized that he was being followed. He was certain that it was member of their Company, from the direction of the approaching person, as well as his highly tuned sense of self preservation. It had served him well for many years, and he had come to trust it implicitly.

He ducked into a copse of alder, leaning against the largest trunk and awaiting his pursuer, fairly certain that he knew who had followed. Sure enough, a small form slipped into the copse after him, pausing a few feet away, hands on narrow hips as Bilbo gave Thorin a considering look.

Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but Bilbo shushed him quickly.

“Not a word, do you understand?” Bilbo commanded, giving Thorin a glare, waiting for Thorin to nod his acquiescence before moving forward once more.

He watched, intrigued as Bilbo stalked toward him, his brow furrowed, whether in consternation or appraisal, Thorin could not say. Bilbo stopped directly in front of Thorin, the toes of his bare feet near to brushing the steel tips of Thorin's heavy boots.

“You said I should ask, but I thought it might be more effective to tell. So I am,” Bilbo declared. “Don't move.” Bilbo's eyes were fierce as he stared at Thorin, fire lighting him from the inside. Thorin couldn't help but smile at its resurgence, and nodded again.

“Right then,” Bilbo said, moving closer and running a hand over Thorin's chest, slipping down to the arousal straining his trousers. “There's something I've been wanting to do for a while now, and you're going to let me do it.”

Thorin had no objection, wondering eagerly what Bilbo was going to do. A fire flared in his blood to match the one in Bilbo's eyes. He watched transfixed as Bilbo lowered himself to his knees, sliding his hands down Thorin's thighs and up them again, underneath his tunic. His head spun with the implications of what Bilbo was about to do, and as badly as he wanted to touch, he wouldn't have stopped Bilbo for the world.

He bit back a gasp of surprise when Bilbo leaned forward and pressed his face into Thorin's groin, rubbing his cheek across Thorin's cloth caged erection, breathing deeply before looking up, his eyes dark and needy. Without wasting any more time, Bilbo fumbled with the fastenings that contained Thorin's aching arousal, awkwardly working the unfamiliar fastenings open. Thorin reached down and pulled the edges of his tunic and hauberk aside, very grateful for the first time that the garments spilt apart in just the right place to allow such ready access to his cock. He wondered fleetingly if they were designed with such a purpose, but pushed the thought away as Bilbo succeeded in his task, freeing Thorin's cock to bob in front of him.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, quietly, his eyes wide as he sat back on his heels to study Thorin's erection. “You're not small anywhere are you?” Bilbo asked, though Thorin wasn't sure he wanted an answer. Bilbo's amazement thrilled him...by Dwarvish standards he was fairly sized, but nothing special.

His line of thought was cut off abruptly as Bilbo leaned in and took the whole tip into his mouth, sucking gently and playing at the underside with his tongue. Thorin's head dropped back against the tree, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to control his breathing. Bilbo's mouth continued to play at the end of Thorin's shaft, wetting it thoroughly as Thorin clenched his fists in an effort at restraint.

He wasn't that well versed in restraint, really. He knew it was a failing of his, and if he was being honest with himself, he'd showed little restraint in his dealings with Bilbo thus far, whether in word or deed. He was determined to do what Bilbo asked here, it was the least he could do, really. The fact that what Bilbo wanted, Thorin also wanted, well...it didn't hurt.

It became a lot harder to resist when Bilbo took him down further, one hand reaching up to circle the base of Thorin's cock, only just able to wrap his small hand around Thorin's girth. He worked his hand and mouth in concert, the firm grip of his hand a delightful contrast to the slick, heated suction of his mouth. It was all he could do not to grip Bilbo's unruly curls and encourage him along, faster, deeper, until he spilled down Bilbo's throat.

But he wouldn't hurt him. As much as he drove Thorin mad with his naive ways and his alluring smiles, Thorin would not see him hurt, despite what he had told Gandalf that night in Bilbo's dining room.

He felt bereft when the mouth that was working him over so beautifully left without warning, but when Bilbo's hand began stroking him from base to tip, he couldn't bring himself to mourn. Bilbo might be meek in many ways, but in this he was bold as brass, something which Thorin found himself exceedingly grateful for.

“Look at me,” Bilbo said roughly, squeezing Thorin's cock for emphasis. Thorin complied readily, but found himself unprepared for the sight that greeted him. His cock was hard, the tip a deep red, the shaft pale against Bilbo’s tan fingers. Bilbo looked up at him through a thick fringe of curls, a smirk twitching the corners of his mouth as he met Thorin's eyes boldly. Once he had Thorin's full attention, he lapped at the head of Thorin's cock with a pink tongue, dipping the tip into the leaking slit before taking the whole head into his mouth, his eyes still fixed on Thorin's.

“Mahal,” Thorin whispered reverently. Bilbo's lips were red and thin, stretched as they were as he took Thorin in further, a sight like none Thorin had ever seen in his life before. Bilbo maintained the eye contact as he sunk even further, and Thorin groaned aloud when he felt the back of Bilbo's throat, unable to resist, one hand reaching out to grab a handful of Bilbo's hair.

It was Bilbo's turn to moan, the vibrations of his throat pushing Thorin closer to his climax, sooner than he'd thought possible. Thorin could see Bilbo's other hand moving on his own erection, and he wondered when Bilbo had unfastened his trousers. It was all coming together, quickly, the combination of Bilbo's skillful mouth working his shaft, the push of his throat on the tip, the synchronous motion of his hands and especially, the sight of his lovely mouth filled with the evidence of Thorin's desire for him.

Bilbo's eyes on his are what topped it off, the final piece that finished the puzzle. The heat in them threw Thorin off the cliff, his release taking his breath as he spent inside Bilbo's mouth. He had to give credit to the Hobbit, he almost managed to take it all, swallowing eagerly, his eyes closed, still moaning as his tongue and lips moved gently over the head, shivers breaking out across Thorin's body.

Thorin whined when Bilbo pulled back, licking any sticky remnants off his lips, lips that were swollen and bright in a way Thorin wanted to memorize, wanted to keep in his mind for the rest of his long life.

“Bilbo,” he whispered, tugging him up by the hair until he stood, and wrapping his other hand around Bilbo's back, pulling him close. He took Bilbo's lips in a kiss, far gentler than he'd been planning, but when Bilbo melted into him, it felt right in a way that scared him. He hadn't forgot about Bilbo's pleasure, however sated and boneless he was feeling, so he reached down to grasp Bilbo's erection and found...nothing.

Bilbo was soft.

“You're not hard?” Thorin asked, his mind trying to make sense of the fact. Bilbo had always been eager for him. More than eager.

Bilbo threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, the expression on your face,” he said, still chuckling as he pulled himself out of Thorin's arms and began righting his clothing.

“Don't worry, oh mighty King, I was just as into it as you were.” Bilbo had looked down to fasten his trousers and now looked up at Thorin from beneath his fringe again, his red, red lips stretched in a bright smile.

“So, you already...”

“Came?” Bilbo asked, cutting Thorin off mid sentence. “Yes, well...your hand in my hair pretty much did it for me. Who knew I was susceptible to hair pulling?” He laughed again, Thorin laughing with him this time.

“Good, I'll remember that for next time,” Thorin replied, fastening his own trousers quickly. Bilbo took a step back and turned to go, but Thorin reached out and stopped him with a hand on his chin. He leaned in and gave Bilbo another kiss.

“Anytime you want to do that again, I'm willing,” he said with a grin.

“Maybe next time will be your turn,” Bilbo said with a wink. He pulled out of Thorin's grasp and slipped out of the copse.

Thorin watched him go, a smile curving his lips. He was sure he wouldn't have long to wait for next time. And he could no longer pretend that he didn't want Bilbo every minute of the day. Things were getting far too complicated, a thought which served only to put a frown back on his face. Bilbo was still vastly unprepared for the task he'd taken on, and Thorin was even more frustrated now than before. He would do whatever he could to protect Bilbo, he knew that now...Bilbo was a member of his Company, for good or ill.

Thorin was sure he would need a lot of protecting. He sighed, running a hand through his hair and ensuring his appearance didn't give too much away this time, knowing that the bites Bilbo had left on his neck the last time were likely still visible. They were old news however, and he wasn't eager to prompt a new round of speculation.

Whatever they said, it wasn't going to change Thorin's course now. It was set, and had been since he'd slipped through Bilbo's door and started this whole thing. There was no taking it back now.

He strode purposefully out of the copse and back toward the camp. Time to get on with it.


	4. Forcible Reflections (should be avoided at all costs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin doesn't want to think about Bilbo. Apparently, he has no choice in the matter.

The farmhouse was broken and burned out, but despite Gandalf's urging for them to move, Thorin was done for the day. He wanted a good night's sleep, and destroyed or not, the area provided a better campsite than they'd had in many a long night.

Thorin soon had everyone working to put their camp together, the lads caring for the ponies, Bombur and Bofur working on their dinner, Dwalin and Bifur on watch, as usual, while the rest were divided between gathering firewood and organizing the ponies' gear as well as their own. Thorin was grateful for the relatively quiet moment to gather his ever scattered thoughts, thinking ahead to the next part of their journey. It was a dangerous path that lay ahead, the High Pass through the mountains had become treacherous once more, and Thorin was not looking forward to it.

Another thing he was not looking forward to was Gandalf's nagging, insisting that they make a stop in Rivendell, of all places, to seek the help of the Elves. Thorin scoffed. Elves were not his least favourite creatures on Middle Earth, but they were not far off. If he never had to see or talk to another Elf for the rest of his life, he would be very happy. True, he hadn't had dealings with the Elves of Rivendell, but what difference would that make? Elves were Elves, and Thorin didn't trust them.

They would just have to find another way to decipher the map. Once they were on the High Pass Gandalf would have to leave well enough alone, so Thorin was determined to get there as soon as possible. It shouldn't be longer than another week or so, at the rate Thorin was driving them across the countryside, and then the question of Elves would be put behind them.

Until Mirkwood.

Thorin scowled at his pipe, only then becoming aware that he had been puffing at it for several minutes though all the leaf was burned to ash. He tapped the ash out and tucked it into his pocket, but he wasn't ready to face the other Dwarves yet, not even to fetch his dinner. There was far too much weighing on his mind, he did not think they would enjoy his company at the moment, and nor could he blame them.

One of them had other ideas, however. Thorin sensed a movement beside him and looked over to find Balin approaching, two bowls of hot, thick stew in his hands. He offered one to Thorin and then sat beside him, outside the ruined farmhouse where the others had gathered, eating his meal in silence. Thorin was grateful for Balin's reticence, and he turned his attention to his meal.

When they had finished their dinner, Thorin looked up to see how the others were faring and immediately his eye was caught by their burglar's slight profile, watching as he took the bowls Bofur handed him before moving in the direction of Thorin's nephews, who were, he hoped, keeping an eye on their ponies. Watching Bilbo's retreating figure had brought to mind the encounters he had shared with Thorin over the last several weeks, which in turn had Thorin's cock filling slowly, the sense memory taking over his waking thoughts.

Bilbo had proven that there was much fire in him. It had begun to show in more places than the bedroom, so to speak...it's not like they had been blessed with the use of a bedroom since they had departed Bag End over a month ago. Thorin was pleased. It seemed that the Hobbit had finally found his place amongst the unruly Dwarves. Despite still being far too inexperienced and all but useless in Thorin's eyes, he had settled into the routine of travel and camping. He appeared to have made fast friends with Bofur and Ori, and Thorin's own nephews looked on him as quite their own, keeping him close whenever possible, all the better to pepper him with questions.

Thorin was finding it hard not to cuff them across the head when they got a little too comfortable with Bilbo...he was sure that the Hobbit wasn't always pleased by their avid attentions, and it unsettled him to see the two of them flanking Bilbo, arms around his shoulders or one of them with his head in Bilbo's lap. They were behaving in a far too familiar manner. Not that Thorin begrudged them their new friend, even he could admit, if only to himself, that Bilbo Baggins was good company. But they shouldn't assume too much.

It frustrated him that Bilbo still waxed poetic about this home, his armchair and books, and his pantry filled to bursting with meals at the ready. It had been more than a month, and Thorin had expected that he would have let up about it by now, accepting their lot as the journey went on. The chilly, often damp sleeping conditions and carefully rationed meals were a far cry from the warmth of Bag End, this he knew. But no one had forced Bilbo out his door, and the whinging was getting on Thorin's nerves.

The truth was, he was starting to feel a little too much in the company of Bilbo, and it alarmed him. Their couplings were as ardent as ever, fierce and fast and filled with a need that was new to Thorin. But they had also become increasingly tender, which was much more unsettling. He found himself grinning like an idiot when they were finished, or stroking his hand through Bilbo's mop of curls with care, soothing his bruises with soft kisses. He found himself as pleased to hold Bilbo in the aftermath, breathing in the smell of sex and wind and Hobbit, as he was to grasp him with the urgency of hot arousal in stolen moments.

Bilbo Baggins had him utterly confused and off centre. He couldn't seem to reconcile the warring parts of his mind, one saying he should pull Bilbo closer and the other saying he should send him home. It was maddening.

He hadn't realized he had been staring for long moments in the direction Bilbo had gone until Balin's voice cut into his reverie.

“You seem to have taken quite a fancy to our burglar,” he said in a wry tone. Thorin glanced at him, unsurprised to see an appraising look on Balin's expressive face.

“Hmmmph,” Thorin grunted in return, pulling out his pipe again, if only to have something to do with his hands.

“He's rather fetching, isn't he?” Balin continued, taking out his own pipe. “And charming. And eager to please. A little too eager, perhaps.”

“What would you know about it?” Thorin asked harshly, annoyed at Balin and at himself.

“Only what I can see with my own eyes,” Balin said blandly, not rising to Thorin's challenge. “And my eyes tell me that you are preoccupied with him. And that you are struggling with an unexpected dilemma.”

“We are on a very dangerous quest, Balin, one with many dangers and pitfalls along the way, and a dragon at the end.”

“Indeed. Considering the complications of our situation, one would think that you would avoid complicating things further.” Balin finished packing his pipe and passed the pouch to Thorin, who had been gripping his pipe far too tightly, but hadn't moved to fill it.

“And I'm sure you have an idea about how I might accomplish that.” Thorin filled the bowl slowly, unsure if he wanted it or not.

“You could start by keeping your hands off our burglar,” Balin said, lighting his pipe with a puff of smoke. “A bruised heart will have a greater impact on our quest than a bruised head.”

“I have no intentions of hurting him,” Thorin snapped, tossing the pouch back to Balin and slipping his now filled pipe back into his pocket. Balin's pointed remarks had put him off, causing his stomach to churn.

“It's not him I'm worried about, Thorin,” Balin said gently.

Thorin sat silently, stunned at Balin's observation.

“Don't be ridiculous,” he said at last, scoffing, but Balin would not be deterred.

“It is not I who am being ridiculous. For all his apparent softness, Bilbo is rather a practical fellow. He'll hardly be looking to you with expectations of love.”

“Good, because I've given him none.” Thorin's head was spinning. The conclusions Balin had come to were astounding. He'd hardly been gracious or attentive to Bilbo, outside of their private moments...he'd hardly spared the Hobbit a glance, after all. Hadn't he?

“And yet, you are clearly enamoured with him,” Balin said pointedly, giving Thorin a stern look. “Quite frankly, your treatment of him outside your...trysts, has been most unfair.”

“This conversation has become a bit uncomfortable, Balin,” Thorin said, his cheeks burning with mortification at Balin's choice of words.

“Sometimes the things that must be said are,” Balin replied. “I can only hope you treat him better when you are...alone.”

“Does he look at all cowed to you?” Thorin asked, glaring at Balin, resentful of the implication.

“No. He does not,” Balin admitted. “I believe that very little would be enough to cow Master Baggins. He's rather fierce under that plush exterior.”

“I've noticed,” Thorin said with a grin. His moods were shifting faster than even he could keep up with.

“Your notice has been noticed, Thorin. None of us are ignorant as to the nature of your personal relationship with Bilbo...we could hardly have mistaken what occurred on the night before we left The Shire.”

“Enough!” Thorin snarled, pushing himself up and gathering their empty dishes. “You needn't worry yourself, Balin. I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you indeed.”

“I'm not exactly new at this,” Thorin said brusquely, turned away from his friend, still staring in the direction Bilbo had gone.

“I think you are,” Balin replied, moving to stand beside Thorin.

“I'm not a dwarfling anymore, Balin.”

“No, you're not,” Balin agreed. “And yet, this is the first time you've been touched in the heart, is it not?”

“I...it's not like that.” Thorin clenched his jaw, wishing Balin would just go away already. He was having enough trouble convincing himself of that, he didn't need the added pressure of convincing his friend.

“If you insist,” Balin agreed without agreeing, as was his manner. Thorin found his pointed observations and subtle prodding infuriating.

“Believe what you will,” Thorin said at last. “It is a matter of convenience, that is all. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself, Balin.” He turned abruptly, heading back to the fire, where Bofur had piled their dirty dishes, depositing his on the stack when a cry came from behind him.

“Uncle!” Fili gasped as he dashed into the camp, skidding to a halt in front of Thorin. “Trolls, they, they have the ponies.”

“Trolls!” Thorin exclaimed. “Where?”

“Close,” Fili said, already tugging Thorin in the direction he'd come, the others gathering their weapons and following. “They stole some of the ponies, and when Bilbo went to free them, they caught him!”

“What?!” Thorin bellowed, grabbing and handful of his nephew's hair, pulling him to a stop. “You let him go in alone? So help me, Fili, if he's hurt.”

“I know, I know!” Fili cried, tugging at Thorin's sleeve again. “Come on, Kili is distracting them.”

 

* * *

Thorin's mind was chaos after their encounter with the trolls. They had come out of it unscathed, not counting a few scrapes and bruises, but it had been a close thing. As much as he'd wanted to blame Bilbo for getting them into such a situation, the fact was that Fili and Kili must be made to shoulder the bulk of the blame. Sending Bilbo in alone and not informing Thorin of what was transpiring had been a colossal misstep, and it had almost cost Bilbo, and the rest of them, their lives.

Thorin shuddered, reminded suddenly of the look of sheer terror on Bilbo's face when the trolls had held him up, ready to tear his limbs from his body. Thorin's chest had frozen in that moment, a block of ice in place of the beating heart that had resided there only seconds earlier. There had been no other choice than to drop his sword and give in.

Considering Bilbo's fright while in the hands of the trolls, Thorin had been stunned when he had spoken up, drawing attention to himself by distracting the trolls long enough for Gandalf to take over, a move that no doubt saved their lives. Gandalf was right...Bilbo was in possession of a fair degree of nous, even under a good deal of pressure. Thorin was willing to admit that the Hobbit may have something to offer the company, if only a small thread of intelligence and common sense, combined with a surprising ability to think on his feet.

Thorin pushed his thoughts aside when the call came, indicating that they'd found the troll hoard. He had enough to worry about, without getting preoccupied, again, with pondering Bilbo Baggins.

For one, he still had to get the Company past Rivendell before Gandalf could work his wiles and find a way to force Thorin's hand.


	5. Reprieve and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rivendell! Beautiful scenery, finely crafted architecture and an exceedingly gracious host. Also, in need of a good soundproofing.

Rivendell. The Hidden Valley. Imladris. The Last Homely House East of the Sea.

Whatever it was called, it was the last place in Middle Earth that Thorin wanted to be. As he followed their Elf guide through the open hallways and up leaf strewn staircases, he struggled to keep the sneer off his face. The architecture was just so...rounded and delicate. Fine for Elves, perhaps, but Thorin was no Elf. He preferred sturdy, Dwarven architecture and the security of a mountain fortress.

Still, if there was a silver lining to be had, it was a bed to sleep in, much preferable to the hard, cold ground, whoever may be offering the aforementioned bed. Also, the prospect of a full belly, however strange the fare may be.

Thorin was not pleased that Gandalf had led them there, purposefully. If he didn't know better, he would have suspected that Gandalf put the Orcs up to driving them to the entrance of the Hidden Pass. The idea was ridiculous, of course, and yet, here they were. Now Thorin could hardly refuse Elrond's hospitality when it was so freely offered.

He hated to admit it, but Gandalf was right about one thing. Elrond was no Thranduil. He was much more open, much more gracious. Still, it grated on Thorin's pride to accept help from the Elves, however unwillingly. So, he thought, he would take as much advantage of this pit stop as he could. And if he encouraged his Dwarves to be as rowdy as they felt the need to be...well, that was his prerogative, wasn't it? They were Dwarves, after all. Each of them was in possession of a voracious appetite for life.

Their Elf guide led them to a large, airy suite, a common room leading to a large outdoor balcony, with three doors that appeared to be leading to a pair of bedrooms and, from what Thorin could tell, a rather large bath.

“My Lord has many such rooms, if you are so inclined to make use of them, however, he suggested that you may prefer to stay together, in one suite.” He indicated the doorways and continued, “there is a full bath and two bedchambers here, one of them with in suite facilities. If you would prefer to have more rooms...”

Thorin cut him off. “No thank you,” he said curtly. “This is more than sufficient.”

The Elf bowed. “Dinner will be ready in one hour. Please take the time to freshen up.” He left quickly, to the sound of several of the Company muttering under their breath about just what he meant to imply with that comment. Thorin couldn't blame the Elf, really. They were a rather ripe bunch, at the moment.

He looked into the rooms, choosing the larger one with a built in bath and dropped his pack on the floor, shrugging off his surcoat and draping it over the bed in a blatant claim before moving back into the common room.

“You heard the Elf, clean up,” he told the others. “There's plenty of room here for all of you, so claim a place and get some rest before dinner. Leave the other room for Gandalf, in case he deigns to join us.”

While the others dropped their things and began jostling for a place to sleep, Thorin grabbed Bilbo by the arm and tugged him into the room, closing the door firmly behind them. As Balin had confirmed to him, everyone knew about his...arrangement with Bilbo, so why bother trying to be discreet? It was better this way. This way, he could have Bilbo before dinner, and after. And all night.

Thorin's stomach did a little flip at the prospect.

He spared no time getting down to business. Bilbo had dropped his pack and turned to Thorin with a questioning gaze, but before he could speak Thorin took his mouth in a bruising kiss, one arm wrapped around Bilbo's back, drawing him close, troll snot or no, and the other buried in his hair.

Bilbo returned the kiss eagerly, clinging to Thorin's shoulders, gripping Thorin's hair in his small hands. Thorin growled into his lips, he loved it when Bilbo tugged on his hair, loved it when Bilbo let his wanton desperation show.

Then Bilbo pulled back, using his grip on Thorin's hair to end the kiss. Thorin growled again, and pulled him closer.

“Thorin, wait,” Bilbo said, squeaking when Thorin's hand gripped his rear, pulling Bilbo's groin upwards to press into his.

“No, seriously,” Bilbo insisted, leaning back to avoid Thorin's questing lips.

“What,” Thorin said impatiently, his hands moving over Bilbo's body, pushing his jacket off his shoulder with one hand while tugging at his shirt with the other.

“Do you really think we should,” he tried again, though Thorin noticed he wasn't pulling away any further, in fact, his hands had slid down Thorin's chest and were tugging ineffectively at his buckle. “Everyone is right out there, surely they'll figure it out.”

Thorin laughed, shaking his head, not stopping his attempts at divesting Bilbo of his clothing.

“Do you not think they all know exactly what is going on here?” he said, leaning in to lick the newly bared line of Bilbo's collarbone. He had such delicate bones, Thorin was amazed that he didn't just snap in half at the slightest pressure.

“They...but, how?”

“We've hardly been discreet,” Thorin told him, continuing to unbutton Bilbo's shirt, one-handed. “Besides, I'm sure they figured it out immediately, before we'd left Bag End.”

Bilbo stilled, staring up in Thorin with wide eyes and a slack mouth. Thorin took a deep breath, imagining all the things he wanted to do with that mouth.

“Surely you didn't think they were oblivious. You were hardly quiet that night, after all.”

“I...they heard us?” Though it seemed impossible, Bilbo's eyes grew even wider. “The first time?”

Thorin hummed in affirmation, pulling Bilbo's jacket and shirt completely off, running his hands over Bilbo's soft flesh, ensuring that there was no damage from their run in with the trolls. Besides being grungy with dirt and still sweaty from their frantic run for safety, Bilbo was unharmed. Thorin thought he might develop some bruises where the trolls had gripped his limbs, but as of yet there was no indications of them.

“This is unconscionable,” Bilbo was saying, mostly to himself, it seemed. Thorin frowned. It didn't make any difference to him who knew, as long as they kept their fool mouths shut on the topic. Why make a fuss?

Thorin took over where Bilbo's slack hands had left off, undoing his buckle and dropping it heedlessly to the floor. He pulled off his jerkin just as quickly, his tunic following it into a heap on the floor.

“They really know?” Bilbo said, his face twisted in a frown. It was not the look Thorin wanted to see on his face just then. They had less than an hour until dinner, after all, so they'd better get to the 'freshening up'.

“Yes, they know,” Thorin snapped, reaching for Bilbo's trousers and pulling the fastenings loose, slipping them off by way of Bilbo's backside, a convenient way of pulling him closer in the process.

“And you don't care?”

“Why would I?”

“Don't they care?”

“Only that they didn't get to you first,” Thorin said before lowering his lips to Bilbo's neck, gripping Bilbo's cheeks with greedy hands and pulling them apart, revelling in the moan he received as a result.

“What?” Bilbo squeaked, his mind coming back to him, pushing on Thorin's chest once more. Thorin sighed heavily, resting his head on Bilbo's shoulder and praying to Mahal for patience.

“What do you mean, they didn't get to me first?” Thorin looked up to see Bilbo's stunned expression once more, knowing that he would have to deal with this if he wanted Bilbo's full attention.

“Are you really naive enough to think that I'm the only member of the company who is attracted to you, Bilbo? I thought you were experienced in such things.”

“I am!” Bilbo insisted. “Only...with other Hobbits. I've never...with a Dwarf, or...”

“Good,” Thorin said, leaning in again and pulling the lobe of Bilbo's ear into his mouth, sucking fervently.

“Which of them would possibly want me? I'm just a...well, I'm just a Hobbit after all. I'm hardly what moves a Dwarf to lust, am I?”

“And yet, here you stand, in the arms of a Dwarf who lusts for you very much,” Thorin said, huffing a breath, more than done with this line of communication.

“Oh, well,” Bilbo said thoughtfully. “When you put it like that.”

“Are we going to talk about this right now? We've a soft bed and a private room, and no doubt we'll be called to dinner long before we're ready to leave it,” Thorin pointed out, pulling Bilbo close once more. “Do you want this, or not?”

Bilbo looked down, seemingly noticing his nakedness and Thorin's near identical state for the first time.

“Oh, right,” he grinned up at Thorin, scraping his fingernails down Thorin's chest, eliciting a hiss. Thorin's cock, which had softened during Bilbo's questioning, filled with blood so fast his head spun.

“Best be getting on with it, then.” Bilbo's fingers scratched up through Thorin's beard and into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss.

Thorin went eagerly, lifting Bilbo up and moving toward the bed, slightly hampered by Bilbo's questing fingers, which had slid down his chest once more, turning their attention to Thorin's trousers. His legs hit the edge of the bed and he dropped Bilbo onto it abruptly, stripping himself of his remaining clothes and his boots, an action made quick by almost two centuries of repetition. He paused only to fumble in his coat, still laying across the foot of the bed, pulling out the vial of oil he had pilfered from Bilbo's bathroom when he'd set his mind to the course of action he was still following.

Bilbo scrambled up the bed, Thorin crawling after him with a growl, slipping his free hand up Bilbo's leg and over his belly, giving his cock a squeeze on the way by, pleased to see that it was as eager to get on with things as Thorin's was. When he was close enough he leaned in to kiss Bilbo senseless, but was stopped, again, by Bilbo's firm hand on his chest.

“No,” Bilbo said, his face set, determined.

Thorin was King of the line of Durin, bold and noble, as unshakeable as the rock from which Mahal had carved his progenitor, and yet he was brought so horribly low by a small, soft creature of gentle, bendable demeanour. Thorin was a Dwarf, birthed from stone. Thorin would endure.

Thorin thought he was going to cry.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo couldn’t help but smirk at Thorin's expression. Considering how determinedly Thorin had been trying to undress him, Bilbo could only imagine his frustration.

“No,” he said again, pushing Thorin back and over, grateful that he went without complaint, sprawling onto his back. “It's my turn.”

“Oh?” Thorin said, interested again, his head lifting to gaze at Bilbo with lidded eyes. Bilbo took the vial from his hand and dropped it to the side before climbing on top of Thorin, straddling his middle. Thorin's bulky frame spread his hips wide, no doubt his thighs would ache after he was done.

Bilbo didn't care, distracted by Thorin grasping his hips tightly, the thought of his blunt fingers leaving a whole different kind of bruises on Bilbo's person did not deter Bilbo in the slightest. In fact, it spurned him on. He groaned as Thorin lifted his hips with a jerk, thrusting at Bilbo's welcoming flesh, holding him in place. Bilbo moaned, pressing down into Thorin just as eagerly, his pink cock bobbing above Thorin's navel.

“Don't think I haven't noticed that you've hardly slept for days,” Bilbo said though panting breaths, as Thorin's movements continued, sending Bilbo’s blood surging through his already filled shaft. Bilbo gasped as an especially hard thrust brought the head of Thorin's cock to bear against his puckered entrance.

“Besides,” Bilbo continued. “You spent the night fighting a battle with three trolls...hardly restful.”

“You didn’t sleep last night either,” Thorin pointed out, but Bilbo was not to be waylaid.

“I did sleep both nights before that. So, you're going to let me do what I want, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Thorin said without pause. Bilbo was always stunned at the speed with which Thorin complied to his demands, though it still frustrated him that such a thing only happened in these moments, when Thorin was laid bare to him. Thorin rarely listened to him outside of those moments, keeping all his conversation and attention for the others, mostly his nephews and the sons of Fundin. Bilbo brushed the thought aside...he'd deal with that complaint in due course. He had a few complaints to bring up to Thorin, and he was thankful that, as Thorin seemed determined they would share a room for the duration of their stay, he'd have the opportunity to do so.

“Good, now hold still.” Bilbo reached for the oil, pleased that Thorin did his best to comply, his hips stilling, although his hands were still locked on Bilbo's hips. Bilbo poured some oil out into his hand, huffing at what was left in the vial, which was to say, almost none.

With a sigh, Bilbo contemplated the dollop of oil in his palm. “Have we really gone through so much?” he asked.

“Clearly,” Thorin replied, shifting his hips up again, obviously hoping to spur Bilbo into action. His cock was hard against Bilbo's ass, his muscles shaking with forced restraint.

“We'll have to get more,” Bilbo declared, finally lifting his hips and reaching back to slick himself. Considering the speed with which they had drained the vial, Bilbo knew it wouldn’t take more than a scarce few moments of preparation.

Thankfully, he was correct. Before Thorin lost his patience and began pushing up at him again, Bilbo's hand slipped over Thorin's cock, slicking him with the remaining oil. He reached forward, giving his cock a few tugs before wiping the rest of the oil across Thorin's chest.

“Please,” Thorin begged hoarsely, his patience clearly evaporating at an alarming speed. Bilbo was of a like mind, not in any mood to delay longer. He lifted his hips once more, this time reaching back to secure Thorin's cock, ensuring that it slid home on the first push.

Thorin's chest practically vibrated with his growl of satisfaction, while Bilbo could only gasp for breath at the immediacy of the intrusion. Thorin was quite big, by Hobbit standards, and while Bilbo was well used to it by now, they'd never done it at this angle, and he'd been unprepared for just how deeply Thorin would fill him from this position.

Thorin's hips began to move at once, but Bilbo stopped him with a yelp, bracing both hands on his chest and lifting himself off, just a little.

“Wait,” he said, hanging his head and taking deep breaths as his body became accustomed to the stretch. “Just let me...” he trailed off, pushing himself down again. Thorin grunted, and his grip on Bilbo's hips tightened, almost to the point of pain. The burn of stretched skin and muscle clenched around Thorin's cock eased and soon he was ready to continue.

“Okay. Now,” he said, lifting up again, but Thorin had other ideas. He instantly set to a fast, brutal rhythm, pulling Bilbo down as he thrust upward, making Bilbo cry out loudly. He leaned back, his hands gripping Thorin's upraised knees for dear life, but the angle only increased the assault, as Thorin's cock was now pounding roughly inside him, hitting the spot that sent sparks of pleasure into him with each thrust, sparks that flew from his spine to the rest of his body. The sensations were excruciating, made all the more intense as his untouched cock slapped Thorin's belly and then his over and over, alternating with each thrust and pull.

“Thorin,” he cried, unable to keep his voice down as his body, already nigh on exhausted, was quickly being pushed past all endurance.

“Yes!” Thorin growled in return, as unsuccessful as Bilbo at holding back, and Bilbo could only hope that the soundproofing in Rivendell was better than at Bag End.

Bilbo gave a shout as his climax crashed over him without warning, any hope of restraint lost in the power of the wave that overtook him. His battered hole clenched around Thorin's cock as his release was scattered across his chest and the bed, but Bilbo was beyond caring. His muscles went limp, leaving him at Thorin's mercy, a notion unfamiliar to the Dwarf when he was buried inside Bilbo. Or anywhere near him, for that matter.

It took only seconds after Bilbo had finished for Thorin to do the same, his hips stuttering into an awkward rhythm as he spent himself, his own yell of completion equally as loud as Bilbo's, their mirrored gasps soon filling the room as the fleshy sounds of their joining ceased.

Bilbo found himself collapsing onto Thorin's chest, unable to hold himself upright any longer, the toll on his body too much to endure. Thorin made no move to dislodge him, his chest heaving with each gasping breath, his hands slipping from their hold on Bilbo's hips and onto the bed beside him, even as his slowly softening cock slipped out of Bilbo, leaving him aching with the loss.

It was long moments before either of them could speak, and Bilbo found himself wishing they could just skip dinner and stay, this time washing themselves before starting anew. Bilbo didn't want to waste the chance of the bed, despite his earlier protests.

Just as he was pushing himself upward, wrinkling his nose at the state he was in, three loud knocks came at the door, followed by a very amused voice.

“If you two are finished in there, you'd better make another attempt at freshening up,” Dwalin said, and Bilbo fell into Thorin's chest again, remembering their earlier conversation with a flush of embarrassment. “The hour's almost done,” Dwalin added.

Bilbo groaned in mortification, sure that his cheeks were bright red.

“We'll be right out,” Thorin said brusquely, leaning up to breathe deeply into Bilbo's hair before lifting him up and to the side. Bilbo flopped, boneless, onto the bed beside him, but neither made a move to get out of the bed.

“Do we have to go out there?” Bilbo asked, voice no louder than a whisper, wondering just how much everyone had heard. His question was answered when his stomach took that opportunity to grumble loudly, and Thorin let out a bark of laughter.

“Yes, Master Baggins, I believe we do,” Thorin said regretfully, but with a merry laugh, sitting up, pulling himself off the bed and striding across the room to the alcove that served as the room's bath facilities. He washed himself with perfunctory motions, out of time for anything else or uncaring, Bilbo wasn't sure. Bilbo had managed to work himself into a sitting position and had just thrown his legs over the bed when Thorin approached, standing Bilbo up before performing the same hasty ablution on Bilbo himself. He wiped Bilbo's face and neck first, rinsing the cloth in a basin before cleaning Bilbo’s chest and belly, moving at last to wipe his cleft.

Bilbo hissed as the tender flesh objected, despite Thorin's gentle touch.

“Thank you,” he said as Thorin pulled back, surprised when the Dwarf leaned in for a kiss, his large hand cupping Bilbo's face tenderly as he pulled Bilbo's bottom lip into his mouth, scrapping it gently with his blunt teeth before letting go.

“Better get dressed before Dwalin comes back,” he said gruffly, stalking off to his pack, digging into it for his comparatively clean clothes and pulling them on with haste.

Bilbo frowned, moving to retrieve his pack as well, confused as he so often was after they were through. Thorin was always passionate when they came together, he was a generous and athletic lover, and surprisingly, he showed flashes of true tenderness, fleeting though they were. And yet, he made up for that tenderness by treating Bilbo with brusque efficiency afterwards and then all but ignoring him until the next time they had an opportunity.

Bilbo huffed in displeasure. He was hardly wishing for a love match, such an idea was preposterous given their respective situations, and he wasn't inclined to indulge at any rate. Thorin's personality was as far from compatible with his as he could get, and yet Bilbo had hoped that by now Thorin would at least grace him with a pretence of friendliness.

There was a sudden burst of laughter from the adjoining room, and Bilbo flushed again, reminded of their fellows who waited, no doubt eagerly, for their appearance. Thinking of the other Dwarves reminded Bilbo of their earlier conversation, his cheeks heating further as he pondered who exactly Thorin had been alluding to.

“Who were you talking about earlier?” he asked, unable to control his curiosity.

“Hmm?” Thorin replied, and Bilbo rolled his eyes. There were moments when Thorin was a shining example of his race, his gruff reticence pouring through at the most inopportune times.

“When you said some of the others might be jealous.”

“You really don't know?”

“No, I really don't.”

Thorin turned to look at him, fully dressed, minus the coat that was now pooled on the floor, dislodged from the bed during their strenuous coupling.

“What does it matter? None of them will make a move on you now,” he said, turning back to the sink and wetting his hands, running them through his hair in an attempt to subdue it.

“That's beside the point,” Bilbo replied, moving to follow Thorin's example. No doubt his hair was an absolute disaster, trolls, wargs and running, running, running not in the too distant past. “I'm curious and a Hobbit's curiosity is persistent.”

Thorin sighed, bracing his hands on his hips and lifting his eyes to the sky. “Alright then. Bofur, for one.”

“What?” Bilbo yelped, eyes wide in shock. “But he's my friend.”

“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “And you can trust me when I tell you that, given the chance, he'd like to be a lot friendlier than is currently his lot.”

“But, he...” Bilbo trailed off, thinking of how quickly Bofur had befriended him, before Thorin had arrived at Bag End, and, notably less avidly, after. He still sought Bilbo out often, for which Bilbo had been grateful, thinking that Bofur's friendly, outgoing manner and curiosity was the only reason.

“Who else?” he asked, closing his eyes and bracing himself for Thorin's reply.

“Well, there's Ori, who looks at you as if you'd hung the moon, although considering my experience with your proclivities, most likely you'd not be a compatible match in such a way. Nori would probably take you on, if only for a tumble...I doubt he's ever refused a willing partner. The same could be said for Bifur, as a matter of fact. He would match your appetites much more readily, I imagine.”

Bilbo let out a sound that could only be described as a 'meep', but Thorin either didn't hear or ignored it, continuing down what was becoming a shockingly long list.

“Fili and Kili would take you on in a heartbeat, probably between them...”

“Between...” Bilbo breathed, his mind spinning with the implications.

“Between,” Thorin repeated. “It's not uncommon for brothers to share partners, or even to experiment with each other as they mature, in anticipation of future lovers. Is it not so with Hobbits?”

Bilbo shook his head dumbly, trying desperately to clear his chaotic brain. “I don't even know what to think about that,” he said at last, stunned to the point of insensibility.

“Oh, and of course, Dwalin,” Thorin finished, sitting on the bed and pulling on his boots, fastening the multitude of straps with shocking ease.

“Dwalin!” Bilbo squeaked. Just when he'd thought he could no longer be shocked, Thorin threw Dwalin's name out with a blatant casualness.

“Indeed. He'd not be adverse to getting you under him, in fact, I'm certain that he'd match you quite as well as I have. I've experienced his...enthusiasm myself. ”

Bilbo leaned against the wall, feeling a bit lightheaded. “He...you...” he stuttered, his mouth unable to form the words flowing through his mind.

“Blood brothers or shield brothers, it's all the same amongst young Dwarrows,” Thorin said, standing up, fully dressed and ready for dinner, moving towards the door as if he hadn't just rocked Bilbo’s world. Again.

“I'd, I, uh...I'd no idea so many Dwarves were inclined towards the same sex.” He knew for a fact that Hobbits weren't, as a rule. Some were up for a bit of tweenish experimentation, though Bilbo had never heard of such a thing occurring between siblings, but most settled into a life of respectable heterosexuality before reaching their majority, getting married and churning out a plethora of fauntlings, post haste. It had been quite a few years since Bilbo had last had a partner, perhaps that had played a part in his willingness to throw himself into Thorin's hands.

“Generally, they're not. But we are cursed with a dearth of females, and while it doesn't bother us in the grand scheme of things, many of our race being married to our crafts, as it were, we still have urges.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said faintly, head still spinning from an over abundance of information.

“Ready?” Thorin asked, looking Bilbo over, not waiting for an answer before opening the door. Bilbo followed him out, forgetting about the inevitable audience until a loud cheer jolted him back into awareness.

Many of the assembled Dwarves were laughing and clapping, giving Bilbo and Thorin an enthusiastic indication of just how loud they had been. Bilbo prayed to all the Valar that the earth would open up and devour him, anything to spare him the humiliation at hand.

Cries of, “well done,” and “way to give it yer all,” were sent in his direction, Bilbo's only response was to bury his head in his hands and wail into his palms.

“Enough!” Thorin bellowed, the room falling into immediate silence, though Bilbo heard a few lingering snickers. “Leave it alone, you imbeciles. Unless you'd like us to return the favour.”

The room settled into complete silence as each of the others tried to make himself invisible to Thorin's roving gaze. All except Dwalin, who met his glare head on and said, “if any of us were as vociferous about our business, I'm sure you would.”

Thorin's glare intensified as the guffaws began anew. Bilbo was sure he would retaliate, but he only shouldered Dwalin roughly as he stalked to the door, slamming it open to the shock of the Elf outside, his hand raised to knock. He stepped back quickly, no doubt grateful for his Elvish reflexes as Thorin passed, not sparing him a glance.

The rest followed, still chuckling, slapping Bilbo on the back heartily, once again free with the encouraging if rather vivid comments now that Thorin had left.

“You alright?” Bofur asked, staying back once the rest had gone, his hand on Bilbo's shoulder no longer the comfort he'd no doubt intended.

Bilbo looked up at him, eyes wide as he saw his friend clearly for the first time. Bofur's eyes were gentle with concern, but Bilbo imagined he could see another gleam within them. He shook his head, trying hopelessly to put the thought out of his head.

“I will be,” Bilbo replied, heading toward the door with Bofur beside him, his movements hampered by the ache in his backside and the twinge in his thighs. No doubt he'd not be sitting comfortably tonight.

“I imagine it'll take a while to recover from that display,” Bofur said cheerfully, chuckling as he followed Bilbo, heading in the direction indicated by the attending Elf.

“Do we have to speak of it?” Bilbo asked desperately, wondering if his cheeks would be permanently stained red after tonight.

“It's hard not to,” Bofur replied. “You two put on quite the show.” Bilbo risked a glance at him, no longer able to mistake the gleam in his eyes.

“How is this my life?” Bilbo asked, throwing his eyes to the heavens with an unspoken plea for mercy.

“You shouldn't be embarrassed, Bilbo,” Bofur said, clapping his shoulder once more. “It's been a very long time, or so I've heard, since Thorin has taken the opportunity to mine his family jewels, so to speak. Many have tried to tempt him, but none have succeeded until now. You should be proud.”

Bilbo stared at Bofur with an expression that his face would no doubt freeze in, if his Aunt Donnamira was correct, for the amount of times it had overtaken his features that evening.

“Oh Bilbo, you certainly are refreshing. Anyone else would proclaim such a conquest from the mountaintop.”

“Thorin is hardly a conquest,” Bilbo insisted with a sigh.

“Oh really?”

“It's not like that, Bofur,” Bilbo continued. “It's not like it's a love match or anything. We're just...”

“Fucking?” Bofur supplied.

Bilbo clenched his eyes together so tight it hurt, hoping it would erase the entire evening from his memory. Well, except the part between the far too illuminating, and numerous, conversations.

“If you must put it that crudely, yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” Bilbo declared. “He's not a very likeable person, is he? Not on a more personal level.”

“It doesn't get much more personal than that, from what I heard,” Bofur observed with a leer.

“Oh, that's just sex,” Bilbo said with a huff. “I could do that with anyone...”

“Indeed?” Bofur cut in, eyebrows lifted with sudden interest.

“Not that I would,” Bilbo assured him quickly. “One partner at a time is plenty, thank you very much.”

“Ahh, I understand.” Bofur nodded thoughtfully. “Besides, Thorin would kill me if I tried anything.”

“What?” Bilbo said, stopping to stare at his friend, alarmed by the confirmation of Thorin's assertion, positive that he would never be able to look at his friend the same way again. Nor several other members of their party.

“You know what, forget it,” he said, changing his mind, continuing toward where ever the Elf was leading them. The Elf, it occurred to Bilbo, who must be overhearing every word they spoke.

Bilbo had never been so grateful to see tables set for dinner in his life, and that was saying something. He was a Hobbit, after all. And yet, when their guide gestured them onto the terrace meant for that purpose, Bilbo almost cried with relief.

* * *

Bilbo slipped into the empty spot beside Balin, grateful for the fact that he, at least, hadn't been on Thorin's list. When Fili took up the empty place beside him, he couldn't help but shift a bit toward the older Dwarf. Fili didn't seem to notice however, throwing his arm around Bilbo's shoulders, in a way that had never unsettled Bilbo before but did now.

“Bilbo, you've earned my never ending respect tonight,” Fili said, his lips curved in a cheeky grin.

“Oh, get off,” Bilbo said, flushing, shoving Fili away as hard as he could manage. Fili only laughed harder, joined by the others around the table. Fortunately, they were soon distracted by the food, presented to them by a seemingly endless line of smooth, unsmiling Elves. As fascinating as Bilbo found the Elves, the Dwarves were far more...robust. In appearance and behaviour.

He shifted carefully in his seat as the meal went on, unable to ignore the pangs from his more tender parts, though he succeeded in pushing speculative thoughts of his friends from his mind. When Thorin left his place with Elrond and Gandalf, drifting around the table before taking up a spot opposite Bilbo, a spot where he could, and did, level Bilbo with a heated look, the twinge took on a very different quality.

He was willing to forgive Bofur anything when he distracted Thorin by climbing atop a plinth breaking into a round of boisterous song. The ensuing food fight seemed to call an end to the meal, finally allowing Bilbo a chance to make his escape, which he did, rising unnoticed for the table and slipping away hurriedly.

He had an awful lot of information to process this night.


	6. Conflict Resolution is Kind of a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what is says on the tin. But first, smut!

Bilbo slipped under the water, allowing it to submerge him completely. It was very likely to be their last night in Rivendell, and although he was as clean as he could be, having spent the past days doing nothing more strenuous than having frequent, energetic sex with Thorin, he didn't want to let this last opportunity for a bath slip through his fingers.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift back over his last few days. Thorin had been unrestrained in his appetites, especially now that it was all out in the open, so to speak. Of course, it had been from the start, but Bilbo hadn't known that. It had taken a few days, but Bilbo had finally realized that, other than their loudly expressed amusement and Thorin's insistence that several of them would gladly take his place, the other Dwarves didn't seem to care what they got up to.

Still, there had been a few times where Bilbo had been forced to slip out while Thorin was sleeping in order to spend as much time as he could soaking up the blessed peace and tranquillity of Rivendell. It was as truly beautiful place. It was like a hotel and a museum and a library and a restaurant, all at once. There were Elves to speak with around every corner, and Bilbo had been increasing his fluency in Sindarin by leaps and bounds. The Elves had a multitude of backgrounds, passions and skill sets, and not only were they open about their culture and language, but they were free with their time and their appreciation for his questions. It was a stark contrast to the loud, secretive and difficult that so defined the Dwarves.

Bilbo felt he could spend years in Rivendell without marking the passage of time. Perhaps that was how the Elves lived, slipping from one day to the next without notice, marking only the passage of the seasons and not the days and nights. They pursued their passions, letting their interests take them off for months and years at a time, and yet they were always attentive to the earth, to the life that grew around them, caring for it was a delicate stewardship that left Bilbo astounded.

Perhaps they were what Hobbits could become, if they were unrestrained by the coming of old age. The years that Hobbits were allotted on the earth were fleeting, so they lived quickly and eagerly, with great energy. The Elves were under no such restrictions.

It was a stark contrast to the Dwarves, who were as different from Elves and Hobbits as was possible. In truth, Bilbo had known quite a few men as well, in Bree and in the Shire, the later being host to many Rangers over the years, Rangers who kept the Shire safe, without the knowledge or direction of its inhabitants. Men in general were as long lived as Hobbits, which is to say, not that long lived at all, and while they were more serious and solemn, more prone to violence than Hobbits and Elves, they were still alike in many ways, in culture and thought, in word and deed much more akin to the Eldar, as well as to the Hobbits.

The Dwarves were cut from a different cloth altogether. Literally. Aule had carved them from the stone of the earth, and had imbued them with the characteristics needed to endure, as Arda had been under much turmoil at the time, the domination of Melkor lending much influence in their making.

They were hard, unyielding and resistant to such domination, whether physical or mental. They were as strong as the bones of the earth, their skills as vast as the span of it. And yet, their Maker had given them his own great love of craftsmanship, deft and delicate in a way at odds with their inherent bluntness, their stunted stature.

Eru Illuvatar had given them a life of their own and allowed them a place in Middle Earth, but they were very much separate from His own Children, a fact which was exceedingly apparent to Bilbo, now more than ever.

And yet, Aule's own wife had been credited with the creation of the Hobbits, although through all his research, Bilbo could find nothing to confirm this assertion. Perhaps the idea came about because the Hobbits live at most in harmony with her creations, more than any other race, even at times, the Elves. The story went that while all living things were in the sleep of Yavanna, in the time of darkness before the Awakening of the Elves at Cuivienen, she planted many seeds in preparation of the coming of the Sun. The belief is that the Hobbits sprang from the ground with the rising of the Sun, the seeds of their Creation planted by Her while the earth and all that lived in it slumbered. When the Sun first rose the Hobbits had come forth, even as the Edain, the race of Men, had awoken.

In truth, the Hobbits bore some relation to all the other races, being small in stature as like to the Khazad, having beardless faces and pointed ears like the Eldar, in addition to a love of nature, and yet their bodies were proportionate in the manner of the Edain.

Bilbo thought it was a fanciful idea, but he couldn't turn it out of his head completely. The truth was, no one knew from whence the Hobbits had come. Perhaps that was the reasoning behind the various rumours.

All this pondering wasn't getting him anywhere, but that would not stop him pondering...it never had. He was a creature of reflection, and the stark differences between the Dwarves and Elves he was currently a witness to called for much reflection.

Still, he enjoyed the Dwarves, their company was refreshing and uplifting, and while Bilbo enjoyed the Elves immensely, they were a tad on the sedate side. The vibrancy of the Dwarves broke up the monotony.

That and Thorin's determination to have as much sex as possible before they left, a fact that Bilbo's body protested even as it revelled. He had never been so utterly sated in his entire life. After every session, with one or sometimes two orgasms behind him, he was certain that he would not be able to get hard again for an age. A week, at least.

And yet, every time Thorin looked at him, his blue eyes heated to a deep smoulder, every time he gripped his hand at the back of Bilbo's neck and led him away from the others, every time Bilbo awoke to Thorin's hands and mouth on him, his fingers often buried inside Bilbo, already preparing him thoroughly...every single time his cock rose to the challenge as if it had been months since his last climax.

Bilbo sighed, slipping under the surface once more, luxuriating in the hot water, scented with an oil he had procured that morning. He and Thorin had taken to using a jar of moisturizing salve that Thorin had pilfered from Oin's stores. It worked well enough for their purposes, but oil was much better. Especially a lovely scented oil like the one Bilbo had found, laced with bergamot.

“If you'd wanted another bath, you could have joined us,” Thorin said, though his words were muffled, as Bilbo's ears were submerged. He opened his eyes and took in the sight before him, still surprised at just how quickly the sight of Thorin could get his blood pumping. His cock, which had been slowly filling with his thoughts about the salve and its use, had hurried to finish the job, spurred on by Thorin's rich, dark voice.

Thorin's hair was damp and curling, more than usual, his skin gleaming with moisture. Of course he was naked except for his trousers, and Bilbo noticed his boots and other clothing were in a messy pile by the foot of the bed. How Thorin looked so neat and well dressed all the time when he treated his clothes with such disregard, Bilbo had no idea. It also did not escape Bilbo's notice that Thorin's groin was bulging rather obviously. Bilbo hummed in approval.

“No thanks,” he replied, closing his eyes and acting as if he'd no intentions of leaving the bath. “I much prefer to do my bathing in private. I don't fancy getting naked in front of a group of Dwarves, many of whom would be all too happy to oogle my bits. Not to mention bare for the eyes of any passing Elf.”

Thorin snorted, moving toward the tub, his eyes taking on that familiar gleam, the one that Bilbo could spot from a mile away. “You're bare now,” Thorin pointed out. “And I'm definitely oogling your bits.”

“You're different,” Bilbo said, still not opening his eyes, yet sensing that Thorin was getting closer by the second. “You've seen it all before. In fact, I don't think there's a part of me that you haven't groped or licked.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Thorin agreed. “Though if that's the case I'll have to start over again.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo said, his hard cock now a pressing distraction, straining as it was for the surface of the water and Thorin's touch.

“I think I should start now,” Thorin said, and Bilbo opened his eyes once more, not surprised to find that Thorin was standing immediately over him, staring down at his naked body with undisguised lust.

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“But I'm in the bath.”

“So get out.”

“I don't know, Thorin, you'll only dirty me up again.”

“I have every intention of getting you very, very dirty.”

“I'll have to have another bath.”

“So have another bath.”

Bilbo maintained his calm, lifting his head out of the water, but nothing else.

“Fine then,” Thorin said, turning away from the tub and stalking to the bed, dropping his trousers as he went. “I'll just have to lay over here all alone.” He stepped out of the last piece of clothing he'd been wearing, and climbed up onto the bed, very, very naked. He was acres of pale, furred skin sliding over thick, solid muscle.

“With no one to join me,” he continued, propping himself on the pillows, leaning back and running a hand down his chest seductively. “I suppose I'll have to take matters into my own hands.” And he did, reaching down with his other hand, slowly tugging on his cock as his hot eyes continued to stare at Bilbo with reproach.

“No, no need for that,” Bilbo said, unable to maintain the facade any longer. “I'm here, I might as well help you out.” He pulled himself out of the bath, stepping onto the mat and patting himself dry as quickly as possible, Thorin's eyes raking over every inch of him, one hand still lazily stroking his cock.

“Don't trouble yourself,” he said, leering at Bilbo in a very exaggerated manner.

“No trouble,” Bilbo said, rubbing at his hair vigorously before dropping the towel onto the floor and moving quickly across the room, following Thorin onto the bed, kneeling beside him and batting Thorin's hand away from his erection. “Leave that to me,” he said, leaning down and immediately taking the hard shaft into his mouth.

Thorin groaned, slumping further into the pillows, one hand moving to caress Bilbo’s face, fingers raking through Bilbo's still wet curls. The other hand busied itself on the other end of Bilbo's body, tracing a line down Bilbo's back and his legs before sliding back up to prod at Bilbo's still loosened opening, his skin slick from their last encounter as well as the oil Bilbo had poured into the bath. Two blunt fingers were pushed in without ceremony, causing Bilbo to cry out, the sound vibrating on Thorin's cock, making him clench Bilbo’s hair tightly. The sting of the pulled hairs was something that Bilbo was becoming accustomed to, though it never ceased to work on him, and this time was no exception.

“Grab me the salve,” Thorin said roughly, pushing his fingers further into Bilbo, as if he needed any encouragement.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, pulling off Thorin's cock and leaping off the bed, scurrying over the table beside the bath, bringing back the bottle of oil. “I have something better,” he said, handing it to Thorin, who grinned up at Bilbo, pleased.

“Where did you get it?” he asked, pulling the cork out and giving it a sniff.

“I asked Lindir if they had any oil that I could use for my bath. He pointed me in the direction of their supply cupboard.” Bilbo rejoined Thorin on the bed, draping himself over Thorin's chest. Thorin made a rather comfortable pillow, for all that his muscles were rock solid under that velvet skin.

“Well done, Bilbo,” Thorin said with approval, portioning some onto his palm, passing the bottle back to Bilbo for recorking.

“I got three,” Bilbo corrected, grinning widely down at Thorin who chuckled approvingly.

“Good for you. Hopefully we won't run our before we get a chance at more.” His fingers were back inside Bilbo quickly, slicker this time, just as welcome.

Thorin shoved Bilbo off him suddenly, lifting up over him, his fingers still inside Bilbo, now pinned between his body and the bed. “Roll over,” he said, prodding Bilbo to roll the way he wanted, from the inside.

Bilbo gasped as he did, Thorin's fingers pushing in further he went, following Thorin's guiding hands as they directed him to kneel. He pushed his backside further onto Thorin's questing fingers, a third one joining the others pillowing his head on his hands.

He loved this position. He loved how deep Thorin went like this, how easily he was able to control his thrusts, speed, angle...how he would pin Bilbo down with a hand on his lower back, or clutch his shoulders, or, best of all, by draping himself across Bilbo's back, gripping his hands tightly as he held them down to the bed. It was exquisite.

Considering the speed with which Thorin usually prepped him, being rather impatient when it came to getting inside Bilbo, it was taking a long time. Bilbo squirmed, pushing himself back further with a whine of impatience. Thorin had three fingers inside him, his other hand large and heavy on the small of Bilbo's back, but he wasn't moving them much, just resting them, occasionally pushing in a bit more.

“Thorin?” Bilbo whined, leaning up to look over his shoulder, wondering just what the hold up was. Thorin's face was as open as Bilbo had ever seen it, his eyes wide as he looked up at Bilbo. He frowned, wondering what was going through Thorin's head.

“Are you getting inside me today, or what?” he asked, clenching around Thorin's fingers. It must have been the right thing to do, because Thorin pulled his hand back, gripping Bilbo’s hips, and lined himself up, thrusting all the way inside with one brutal thrust. Bilbo yelled, despite the extensive stretching, it burned, splitting him open with a suddenness that shouldn't shock him, really...Thorin never wasted time no matter what he did, all the less so in this.

But Thorin didn't slow down, leaning over Bilbo with hands clutching his hips so tight it started to hurt, adding an edge to the pleasure, putting all his weight and strength into his thrusts, drawing moans and gasps out of Bilbo with each one.

“Thorin, wha, ah, ah...” he stuttered, unable to form a sentence, or even a word under the onslaught. It only took a few thrusts for Thorin to find the spot, he was always so good at hitting it, no matter the position, and he was exceptionally good at hitting it from behind.

“Bilbo, ahhh, hold on...” Thorin bit out, Bilbo could tell without looking that his teeth were clenched, his muscles taut with the tension. He let go of Bilbo's hips, his hands roaming up Bilbo's back until one pressed down on his shoulder, dropping his head to the bed and making his backside lift into Thorin's frantic thrusting, while the other slid into Bilbo's hair, gripping harshly and pulling harder than ever, wrenching Bilbo's head back, pulling his neck taut, adding another level of pain, but by then Bilbo was far too lost in the pleasure to notice.

Thorin was thrusting just as hard, just as fast as he'd begun, sparking fire through Bilbo's body relentlessly until, after what seemed like an age and yet only a moment, he tugged Bilbo's hair again, just a little harder, just a little more, and Bilbo came hard enough to see stars, his groans guttural as his vision went black, the pleasure rippling though him in a wave that focused on his hole, clenching it down on Thorin's cock in a vice grip.

Thorin came right after, leaning forward, his grip on Bilbo’s hair loosening as he bent over, biting hard on Bilbo’s shoulder as he shuddered through his release. Bilbo's opened his eyes, blinking in the brightness of the room, wincing as Thorin's teeth released him, knowing that was going to leave more than a mark...likely it would be a large, teeth shaped bruise.

Thorin slumped over him, a dead weight across Bilbo's back, pressing him into the bed as Bilbo fought to regain control of his breathing. His scalp was still stinging from the strength of Thorin's grasp, his shoulder aching from the bite, his neck tender from the stretch, and his hole, still clenched around Thorin's cock, was throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He'd never been so sore or so satisfied, stunned at how Thorin had thrown his control off, his raw passion tearing through Bilbo in a way he'd never felt before.

It was worth it, of course, it always was. Thorin had never left him wanting, and yet, it wasn't characteristic of Thorin to be so rough, so brutal in his taking of Bilbo. But it may have just been the most intense, overwhelming orgasm of Bilbo's life, his body loose and shaky in the aftermath.

Finally Thorin rolled off him, letting Bilbo pull in a deep breath for the first time since he'd thrust inside and although he could move, Bilbo found he didn’t want to, letting his legs go and slumping forward onto his belly in a pile of utterly sated Hobbit.

“Thorin,” he breathed, after several long moments where the only sound in the room was their harsh, panting breaths. “Wow.”

Thorin didn't say anything, staring at the ceiling with a pinched, unfocused look. Bilbo frowned, pushing himself onto his side to look at Thorin more closely.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I'm fine,” Thorin snapped, throwing himself off the bed and stalking toward the tub, supposedly to clean up, but he stopped, leaning on the edge and hanging his head. Bilbo sat up, wondering what exactly was going through Thorin's mind. He hadn't switched off so quickly after sex in a while, not since they got to Rivendell at least, and Bilbo wanted to know why.

“You're not,” he insisted, sitting on the edge of the bed, unconcerned about the mess under him, or the come drying into flaky clumps on his torso.

“I'm fine Bilbo, leave it,” Thorin replied, finally reaching for a cloth, using Bilbo's still warm bathwater to wipe himself clean. Bilbo stared at him for a few minutes, positive that, whatever was bothering Thorin, he'd not be able to get it out of him directly.

“What, is the fountain off limits now?” he said lightly, hoping to cut through some of the tension in the room with humour. Although, he had to admit he was annoyed by the whole bathing in the fountain debacle. Thorin had been subtly encouraging the company to act in a most irresponsible manner since they'd arrived there. They'd pulled apart furniture to use as firewood, made a mess of every meal, and anything else they could get their hands on, especially the bathroom. Bilbo said a small prayer for the state of the Elven plumbing, hoping it would prove as hardy as Bilbo's own.

All the messes were miraculously cleaned up, the Elves moving behind the marauding Dwarves silently, without complaint. Bilbo knew that the Dwarves were taking advantage of that, not a prospect that pleased him, particularly. He was quite fond of the Dwarves, and he hated to think that they were being purposefully damaging and disrespectful.

Thorin still did not respond, so Bilbo went on.

“I'm surprised you got involved in the fountain incident, to be honest,” Bilbo remarked. “Whose idea was it, anyway?”

“It was mine,” Thorin declared, surprising Bilbo to say the least.

“Yours?”

“Yes. Twelve Dwarves and one bathroom is a recipe for disaster, so considering that we'll be leaving in the morning, I thought it best they all have a wash. Beside, it's a lovely day.”

Thorin said all this casually, as if it were perfectly normal for the Dwarves to strip bare in public and bathe in an ornamental fountain.

“I can't believe you...” Bilbo snapped, standing up and crossing his arms over his very bare chest. His own nakedness and Thorin's were the last thing on his mind. He had a few bones to pick with Thorin, and it seemed like now was the time to do it.

“Do you have any idea how disrespectful that was? Elrond has taken you in, replenished the supplies, given you food and rest in safety and you repay him by desecrating a public area?”

“It's hardly desecrated,” Thorin scoffed, still not turning to look at Bilbo. “I'm sure the stains will wash out eventually.”

Bilbo gasped, outraged at Thorin's dismissive attitude.

“But that's not all, is it?” he demanded. “How may pieces of furniture have they burned since we've been here, Thorin? I thought you were turning a blind eye since you've been...otherwise engaged.”

Bilbo could feel the flush climbing up his chest at the thought of just how Thorin had been engaged, but be pushed the enticing visual out of his mind to focus on the topic at hand.

“But you've been encouraging them, haven't you?” he demanded.

“I haven't been discouraging them,” Thorin replied, turning at last, his eyes hard and glittering with anger for once, instead of the lust that usually lit his eyes when they looked at Bilbo. “Why should I? The Elves are far too self righteous and uppity, it would do them some good to loosen up once in a while.”

“By loosen up, you mean clean up after the mess of thirteen, and yes, I'm including you in that, Thorin Oakenshield, thirteen Dwarves without a mannerly bone in any of their bodies?”

“Please,” Thorin said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Ori and Balin have plenty of manners.”

“Eru above, Thorin, you're being particularly hard headed today, aren't you? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“There's nothing wrong me me,” Thorin snarled, raising his voice to Bilbo for the first time in a long time. Since before the trolls. “Why do you care about the Elves so much, anyway?”

“Because they're my friends!” Bilbo cried. “And they've opened their homes to us!”

“Friends, eh? And I'm sure you find the Elves,” he practically spat the word, “to be very mannerly. I'd be surprised if you didn't stay behind when we leave tomorrow.”

“Stay be...what are you on about? I signed a contract,” Bilbo pointed out. “I made a promise.”

“What does a contract matter?” Thorin asserted. “We had an alliance with the Elves, and they turned their backs on our starving, homeless people without a single thought! If they are your shining example, I can hardly expect any better of you!”

“Are you calling me false? What about you?” Bilbo hollered, wondering if Thorin had heard a word he'd said all day.

“What about me?” Thorin said, stomping over to his trousers and pulling them on carelessly.

“You've treated me with nothing but contempt and disgust since we left the Shire! After blatantly seducing me in order to get your way, you've belittled me, insulted me and treated me as a burden. And then, used me for your own pleasure...I suppose I should be lucky I got anything out of the deal at all, shouldn't I?”

Bilbo was irate, stalking towards Thorin and poking him in the chest with a finger. “You've been rude, inconsiderate, obstinate and totally, completely two faced! Who's false now?”

“You speak as if you were an unwilling participant!” Thorin yelled back, slapping Bilbo's hand away. “I don't seem to recall you ever saying 'no, Thorin, I don't want to have the best sex I've ever had with you right now, go find someone else!”

Bilbo's mouth closed with a thunk, his anger ramping up to a full blooded fury. “I never said that and you know it!”

“Oh please, I could tell, the way you panted after it like a dog in heat.”

“Says the one who couldn't seem to keep his hands off me, tearing into my clothing at every opportunity, uncaring if there was anyone else around.”

“Is that what this is about? Your wounded pride at being outed so spectacularly, by your own shouts, even though everyone already knew anyway?”

“No, this is about you being a complete and utter prick to me, and almost everyone else on this damned journey, which must mean you're a right asshole the rest of the time, if this is how you act when you're getting regular orgasms!” Bilbo was full out yelling now, having never been so angry in his life. All the frustration and aggravation and everything else had come boiling to the surface under Thorin's pig headed behaviour.

“You don't know anything about me!” Thorin yelled right back.

“No, I don't, because you never talk to me! You treat me like a convenient release and then bad mouth me to anyone who will listen. I've had it, Thorin. I can't be a part of this anymore!”

“A part of what?” Thorin asked, his voice suddenly quiet, deep and cracked with a forced calm.

“This...whatever it is between us. I won't deny I've enjoyed it, but I'm done being taken advantage of. I won't have it. I've let you get away with it for far too long as it is, because you're beautiful and charming when you want too be, and far, far too good at all the sex. But this is it. It's over. No more.”

“Fine,” Thorin said, his voice lower still, and filled with ice. “Then get out, Master Baggins. Sleep with the rest of the company if that's how you feel. And I won't think any less of you if you choose to stay behind tomorrow, after all. My opinion doesn't have far to fall.”

He snatched his tunic up from the floor and pulled his boots on without socks, leaving them undone as he stormed out of the room, tunic balled in his hands, slamming the door behind him with enough force to shake the walls.

Bilbo slumped against the closest surface, sliding down until he was a heap on the floor. That had escalated quickly. He didn't regret it though, not really. The truth was, he couldn’t take much more of Thorin's hot and cold attitude and chilly disdain, however amazing the sex was. It was for the best anyway. He doubted Thorin would want to have anything to do with him after that.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo sat for a long time, reliving the last hour in his mind, from the highest high to the lowest low. That was the problem though, wasn't it? He never knew where he stood with Thorin. Apparently, he did now. It was rather freeing.

Finally, he dragged himself up off the floor, using Thorin's abandoned cloth and the now chilly bathwater to clean up, drying off before heading to his pack and pulling on fresh clothes. The Elves had graciously done all their laundry, for which Bilbo was truly grateful. He'd managed to repair a few places where seams had split or tears had formed, and, all in all, he felt cleaner than he had since leaving his home.

Emotionally, he didn't feel clean at all, his argument with Thorin tainting his mouth sour, filling his gut with rocks. It all needed to be said, it was basically all true, but Bilbo hated how they'd fought. He had never been one to row with his friends, family or partners...he lived pretty much on an even plow, but there was something about Thorin that brought out that side of him. Dwarven influence, no doubt.

He shoved his meagre belongings into the pack and snatched up his bedroll and blanket from where they'd been piled on the floor by the door. He stared at the glass vial of oil that lay forgotten on the bed, but in the end he turned away. Let Thorin keep it. Bilbo had no more use for it.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself before pulling the door open and striding into the common room. Thankfully, there were few members of the company there, though if he could have chosen, he'd have picked others rather than Balin, Ori and Bofur.

He kept going, all the way across the room to an empty corner, where he threw down his pack and bedroll, following them to the floor with a huff. He waited, silent, knowing that at any minute Bofur would break the unbearable silence, though he wondered if it would be concern or humour with which he choose to begin.

Surprisingly, Bofur didn't say anything. Instead he stood, moving to sit beside Bilbo on the floor, offering him a pre-lit pipe, which Bilbo took gratefully. They smoked for long moments, passing the pipe back and forth, the silence broken only by the huff of smoke from their lungs and the ever present scratch of Ori's quill on paper.

“Go ahead,” Bilbo said at last, handing the pipe back to Bofur before laying his head against the wall and looking at the ceiling.

“What?” Bofur asked gently, and Bilbo was suddenly very grateful for his friendship. Whatever Thorin may have said about Bofur's attraction to Bilbo, he was truly a good friend. One who actually knew when to keep silent, surprisingly.

“Say what you want to say.” But Bofur maintained his silence.

“We were here, lad,” Balin said, surprising Bilbo, who looked up and met his eyes across the room. “We heard.”

“Sorry, Bilbo,” Bofur added at last, though Bilbo shook his head.

“Don't be sorry. He's been acting like a royal ass, literally, all along, it's about time I stopped letting him get away with it.” He sighed, running a hand thorough his hair. “That's not what I'm on this quest for, anyway.” He smiled weakly at Balin and then Ori, who answered with a similar smile. Bilbo turned to Bofur, nudging him with a shoulder.

“Quite right, too,” Balin agreed. “There's not many who can stomach standing up to Thorin, but I'm glad you're one of them. He needs that in his life now and then.”

Bilbo scoffed. “He needs a great deal more of it,” he said wryly. “It's far too little, far too late, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Balin agreed. “Perhaps not.”

Bofur offered Bilbo the pipe again, refilled with fresh weed, but Bilbo shook his head.

“Thanks Bofur. I really appreciate it.” He stood up, gripping Bofur's shoulder for leverage. “But I think I'll take a walk. We're leaving in the morning, so it's my last chance to soak up some tranquillity.”

He nodded at them all then headed for the door, pretending that he hadn't heard Balin say, “Aye, we'll have little of that on this next leg.”

He didn't look back, letting his feet go, taking him where they would.

In the end, he found himself on a balcony looking over the river valley, the beauty of nature and the architecture blending seamlessly. When Elrond approached he was grateful for the company, and very grateful for Elrond's invitation to stay. He wouldn't, of course. He had made a promise, and signed a contract, and he wasn't planning on going back on them, whatever Thorin might think of him.

He supposed he should be feeling more hurt by the whole thing than he did, he knew the others would think him hurt, but the truth was, he'd been upset with Thorin far too long for that and he found that he was actually feeling a bit relieved. He chuckled to himself, surprised at his own equanimity, despite all that had happened.

He looked at the sky, realizing that it was almost time for dinner, so he turned and began making his way toward the dining hall. It might be an awkward dinner, but he was hungry and he wasn't about to let Thorin and his massive temper, with the ego to match, cow him into hiding. He may carry the name of Baggins, but he was a Took, after all, and no self respecting Took would miss a meal to avoid some awkwardness or tension.

He'd be leaving with them all soon enough anyway, he may as well get accustomed to the new dynamic, having shattered the other one completely. He sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	7. How Not to put your life Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stone Giants tearing apart the mountain, arch enemies trying to kill you, realising that you were the biggest idiot in Middle Earth...all in a day's work, really.

Thorin hadn't been able to stop himself from snapping at Bilbo as they left Rivendell. Perhaps it had been a low blow, but then he'd been genuinely surprised when Bilbo had followed him out of the city along with the rest, the Elves distracted by the White Council and all its supposed importance.

He was still smarting from the night before, and hadn't slept for a moment. How could he, when the bed still smelled of Bilbo, of their coupling, even of the Elvish soap that Bilbo had been using since they'd arrived. And yet, for all that it smelled like him, he hadn't been there. It had been cold and devoid of life, and Thorin had hated it. He'd packed all his things quickly and left the room, leaving the newly opened vial of oil on the bedside table. It's not as if he'd be needing it.

He had walked the paths of Rivendell as the night wore on, knowing that he'd pay for it the next day but he'd been unable to stop. The confusion of his mind and the aching in his chest had made rest impossible. Thorin was a Dwarf of action, reflection was not something that came easy to him, for all that a King was supposed to be wise and above pettiness.

And yet, Thorin could claim neither. A wiser Dwarf would not have lost his temper at his lover, simply for pointing out a few undeniable truths, however unwelcome such truths were. A King above pettiness would not have hurled insults only half meant, not really believed, in an attempt to deflect the truth of those well spoken words.

For the first time, Thorin had hated the fire that had lit Bilbo's eyes. Fire could warm and keep one safe, after all, but it could also burn and destroy, leaving one hollowed out inside. Why Thorin had needed to learn this lesson a second time, he didn't know. He had clearly learned nothing from Smaug.

The truth was, he'd realized in an instant just how much Bilbo had come to mean to him, and the truth was terrifying. The moment itself had meant nothing, a moment much like so many they had shared between them, rather, it had been Thorin's thoughts that had betrayed him.

He'd imagined, in that moment, doing this for years to come. He'd imagined Erebor, once more reflecting the strength and beauty of Durin's line, freed from all traces of treachery and destruction. He had seen himself triumphant, proudly wearing his Grandfather's crown, a true King, victorious. Free from insecurity, from pain, from the burden of his people's suffering.

Beside him, ever present, ever within arm's reach, he'd seen a Hobbit. Not dressed as he was now, in worn and increasingly tattered travel clothes, but in the finest fabrics the treasury could buy, clean, and heart achingly beautiful.

He'd seen the King's chambers, filled with the life of more than just one, strewn with books he'd never read and trinkets he cared nothing for, excepting the joy they'd brought the one who kept them.

He'd seen Bilbo.

In that moment, his fingers buried deep inside as Bilbo squirmed into them, Thorin knew that this was different. That it had been different from the very start. Balin had been right, damn him. Thorin didn't know just how far he was into it yet, but he knew that it was far.

Too far.

He couldn't envision a future that did not have Bilbo in it, he didn't want to. And yet, how could Bilbo be in his future, after the quest, at Erebor? It didn't make any sense, it didn't fit. As Bilbo had said, he was a Baggins, of Bag End. There was no room for Erebor in his life. No room for Thorin. Not once his task was complete.

That was when Bilbo had called his name, snapping him out of his trance and back to reality. He had pulled his fingers out and moved forward quickly, pressing his cock into Bilbo, the cleft of his ass welcoming Thorin's erection as if it had been made to be there. That's when he surged forward, taking Bilbo hard and fast, more brutal and punishing than he ever had ever been. Some small, dark part of him wanted to hurt Bilbo for making him feel this way...for making him feel. But mostly, he just wanted to loose himself in the sensation of Bilbo’s smooth, silky flesh, so different than his. It was soft and bare, strange and unique without the hair that covered most of a Dwarf's body, most of Thorin's body. Bilbo was so very different, and so very, very exceptional.

Thorin wanted to live there. He collapsed on Bilbo, stunned and shaken as the feelings coursed through him. He rolled away, his chest tight and painful, his head spinning and yet blank, unfocused and thoughtless. Balin was right. It wasn't Bilbo's heart that had been touched, it wasn't Bilbo who would be hurt by this.

This was Thorin's problem.

He had no time for such a distraction. The Quest for Erebor had been a long time coming, and now that he was living it, he could not afford to be weak, he could not afford to cast aside everything he'd worked so hard for.

He could not afford to love.

So, he'd pushed Bilbo away. He'd allowed his anger at Bilbo's well deserved chastisement to grow, and he'd let it explode. It had worked in the end, he'd accomplished what he'd meant to.

Bilbo wouldn't look to him again. He would avoid Thorin, fulfil his contract and then go home. And then Thorin could forget the whole thing.

The plan had worked. So why was Bilbo still haunting Thorin's mind? Why was he plagued by thoughts of him, of his anger and his hurt, why could he not erase the shock and disgust on Bilbo's face as Thorin had stormed out of the room. Why was he plagued by thoughts of Bilbo, of how he fit into Thorin's arms, of how he felt and how he smiled, and the generous way he gave of himself, freely, with no thoughts of a return.

Thorin lifted his eyes to the sky and prayed that Mahal would take this from him. These thoughts, these feelings. They had no place in him, no place on this quest.

And yet, they persisted. Clearly, the plan hadn't worked. He may have been successful at driving Bilbo away, but he'd have to work harder at driving out this weakness. Perhaps if he drove Bilbo further away, it would pass. They didn't need a burglar anyway, did they? Nori was an accomplished thief, after all, and Kili was small and light on his feet, as was Ori.

They could do without Bilbo. It was better for them all if they could be rid of him.

 

* * *

 

The mood of the Company was subdued in the days after leaving Rivendell. Bilbo was very good at acting as if nothing was different, but the Dwarves were not. They were distracted and distant, spending the majority of their down time in family groups, with Bilbo attached to Bofur's side like a burr. It grated at Thorin to see it, but he didn't know what else he'd been expecting. Bilbo, for his part, hadn't acknowledged Thorin's presence since their argument, his mood infuriatingly calm. He was almost cheerful.

It made Thorin want to scream. Or hit someone. Or both.

Thorin wished he could possess some of that calm. He was walking a knife line between fury and sorrow, dragging himself closer to the mountain pass with every step, burdened by his missteps and his arrogant assumptions. Every day brought them closer to the mountains, every day a little further from Bag End, where he was determined to send Bilbo back as soon as possible.

He couldn't send him home outright...that would be far too blatant, over the top, even for Thorin. But he could make things so uncomfortable for Bilbo that he'd want to go home.

Thorin wasn't proud of himself. However, desperate times called for desperate actions, and Thorin was desperate. He needed Bilbo gone.

 

* * *

 

And then the Stone Giants had appeared, and Thorin's hard fought control had shattered, tearing him apart from the inside. He'd thought, for the worst few moments of his life, that Fili had died there on that mountain side. He'd thought him crushed, lifeless and falling down the mountain, his golden smiles and his frenetic energy lost forever. The rage had taken over and he'd bellowed his pain, darkness covering him in grief. Grief, as it had turned out, that was completely unnecessary.

When he rounded the path to find Fili there, with the others, alive and unharmed, his heart had begun pounding again, his muscles weak with relief, the rage still coursing through him even as his eyes had swept over Fili, still unable to believe that he was fine.

He'd hardly spared a moment for Fili, or Kili, on the journey from the Hidden Valley. He'd been so swept up in his own head, in his swirling thoughts conflicting emotions, that he'd all but ignored everyone, including his sister sons. He'd been unfair to them, and he'd almost lost one, almost lost his heir, the one on whom he placed all his hopes for Erebor's future. The one he'd lost his heart to in an instant, 82 years ago when the squalling bundle had been placed in his arms by the lad's father.

Fili and Kili meant more to him than any other creatures in Middle Earth, and he was humbled to think that he'd so very narrowly missed being consumed once more by the torture of loss.

It was in that moment when the relief had crashed onto him, restarting his heart, the rage still coursing through his blood, that he'd hear Bofur's shout.

Where was Bilbo?

In all his confusion and terror, he'd failed to realize that Fili wasn't the only piece of his heart that had been on that oh so precarious ledge. He'd turned, stunned to see only the tips of Bilbo's fingers clinging to the sheer face of the rock. He'd seen Bilbo's face lost in a look of terror, a look that was so, so much worse than the one he'd worn in the clutches of the trolls.

Bilbo was going to fall.

Bofur and Ori yelled, both scrambling for him, but he fell even further, and they could not pull him up. The despair poured through Thorin anew, but his instinct had kicked in, his mind searching for something he could do...he'd moved, not thinking, his eyes scanning the situation and finding the solution, even as his body put the plan into action.

He'd jumped off the cliff onto a tiny ledge, one hand gripping a small hand hold, the other reaching out and grabbing Bilbo's jacket, all the strength in his muscles straining as he tossed the small form upwards, trusting that Bofur and Ori would catch him this time.

They did, but then Thorin's foot had slipped and he'd fallen, certain in that spilt second that it was the end, that this is how he'd pay for his errors and his crimes, by falling to his death, secure in the knowledge that both Fili and Bilbo were safe.

Thankfully, Dwalin had other ideas, his quick reflexes and sheer upper body strength had been sufficient to pull Thorin to safety. The Company stopped, all frozen by the shock of the last few moments, of the series of close calls that had almost torn them apart for good.

Thorin was shaking with adrenaline, with fear and rage, as he heard someone, he couldn’t even tell who, proclaim, 'we almost lost our burglar!'

“He's been lost,” Thorin snarled, the words bubbling up in his throat and spilling out his mouth before he'd known that they were inside him, “ever since he left home.” He panted, his body shaking, his mind in chaos.

“He should never have come,” he continued, ignoring the shocked looks and glares from his Company. “He has no place amongst us.” With that he turned away, calling Dwalin to follow him, ignoring the sickening roil of his insides.

 

* * *

 

The floor of the cave was sandy and dry, something that Bilbo was very grateful for. Despite not having a fire, it was fairly warm as well...fourteen sweaty, damp bodies in a relatively small space made things heat up rather quickly. The sand covering the floor was much more comfortable than the bare ground and rock they'd been sleeping on for the last few days.

As relatively comfortable as it was, Bilbo found sleep eluding him. The events of the day kept playing over in his mind, cycling from one fiasco to the next, all converging on the words that Thorin had spat at him, after both of them had almost lost their lives on the cliff face.

As horrible as the words were, as harsh and cruel and patently true, Bilbo's mind kept one phrase at the forefront of his thoughts, one phrase that summed it all up neatly. The phrase that had pushed Bilbo into the decision that had informed the action he was preparing to take.

He should never have come.

Thorin was right. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn't have let Gandalf's admonishments about his Took ancestry, about his exciting, eccentric childhood sway him into consideration. He shouldn’t have let Thorin's beautiful voice and all encompassing sexual presence overtake any rational thought and push him out of his door. He should never have come.

Promise or not, contract or not, he couldn't stay, not for another moment. Thorin had made it clear that he wasn't wanted, and however low his opinion of Bilbo was, leaving wasn't going to help improve it. In the end, improving Thorin's opinion of him was not a priority, and while Bilbo would miss his friends and would always wonder about them, he couldn't stay.

It was too much to ask of anyone.

When he was certain that all the Dwarves were asleep, he got up, rolling up his bedroll and making sure he had everything. Some would be surprised to find him gone in the morning, but Thorin wouldn't be one of them. He'd probably be relieved.

He snuck past several of his sleeping friends and was about to leave the cave when Bofur called out. Bilbo cursed himself for forgetting. Of course someone would be on watch. He turned to face his friend, oddly grateful that he would get the chance to say goodbye, to Bofur at least.

“Where do you think you're going?” Bofur asked.

“Back to Rivendell,” Bilbo said simply, hoping he wouldn't have to explain his reasons.

“No, no you can't! You're part of the Company! You're one of us!” Bofur was insistent, and Bilbo wondered if he really believed that.

“But I'm not, am I? Gandalf had to convince you all to take me on and Thorin has been clear about his feelings on the subject, despite...everything else. He's right, I should never have left The Shire.”

“No, he's...having you with us has been a blessing, Bilbo. Gandalf is the one who's right...we need you.”

“No Bofur, I don't think you do. And I can't stay in these conditions, do you understand? It was bad enough before, but now, Thorin is...I can't stay here another minute. I miss my home, and my books, and...and to have left it all behind to be treated like that...I can't stand it. Not anymore.”

Bofur sighed, his face falling as what Bilbo had said sunk in.

“I understand,” he said, his expressive face leaving no doubt as to how he was feeling. “I'll miss you. We all will.”

“I'll miss you. Some of you more than others,” Bilbo said with a twist of his lips. “But it's for the best.”

Bofur reached out and pulled him into a tight hug, his affection for his friend causing Bilbo's eyes to sting with unshed tears.

“I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do,” he said, and Bilbo gave him a sad smile, clasping his hand before turning to leave.

“Wait,” Bofur said, and Bilbo turned to look at him. “What's that?” He pointed to Bilbo’s hip, where his sword hung on his belt. Bilbo pulled it out and looked, astounded to see that the blade was glowing blue.

“Wake up!” Thorin bellowed, shocking all of the Dwarves awake, as the sand down the centre of the cave began to slip through a crack. Bilbo wondered for a split second if Thorin had been awake during his conversation with Bofur, but before he could ponder the thought further, the floor disappeared from under him and he fell.

 

* * *

 

The Goblin tunnels were nasty, disgusting, reeking channels through never ending rock, and Bilbo hated them. He thought he'd never been happier in all his life than when he saw Gandalf and the Dwarves run by, despite the fact that Gollum was between him and freedom.

He may have been ready to leave them before, but he had no doubt that his only choice now was to follow them. Making his way back through the mountains underground, even with a magic ring of invisibility, wasn't even a consideration to him. Such an idea would no doubt be folly. Besides, Bilbo wanted to know they were all safe. Even Thorin.

So he followed. While he was running down the mountain, he couldn’t believe his luck, luck that he'd made it out, luck that they had as well, luck that he'd found the ring...the perfect tool with which to make his escape. Now, he'd have to decide where to go from here. Leaving the Dwarves would not be so easy now that they'd crossed over, or rather, under, the Misty Mountains.

He approached the group at last, their voices raised, arguing about Bilbo's whereabouts, and who was to blame for losing him. Then he heard Thorin, and his will hardened. Took his chance to leave, had he? Perhaps he had been going to, and it seemed, given his words, that Thorin had been awake, that he'd heard Bilbo’s whispered conversation with Bofur. He knew that Bilbo had been planning to leave. Well, Bilbo had no choice now. He had his pride, after all, small though it may be.

He'd never let Thorin have the satisfaction of driving him away again. Not now. He pulled the ring off, slipped it into his pocket and stepped out from behind the tree.

“No, he isn't,” he said, glaring straight at Thorin when he said it. Thorin's stunned face at his appearance was absolutely worth staying for. He was clearly gobsmacked, which pleased Bilbo greatly.

The others breathed sighs of relief, smiling and cheering at Bilbo's reappearance. He greeted them all, but was reluctant to tell them exactly how he'd escaped. He wasn't sure he wanted them to know about the ring. It would be much more convenient to keep the fact that he could turn invisible a secret. Who knows how such an ability could come in handy.

Fortunately, he didn't have to tell them because, instead of demanding an explanation, Thorin asked him why he'd come back, with a soft, wondering voice, his face open and vulnerable. So Bilbo told him the truth. Well, a carefully crafted version of it. One that was true, if not the whole truth.

He looked at Thorin while he spoke. Thorin was the only one with a grudge against him, it was he who needed to hear it the most. When he'd finished, he'd fixed Thorin with a look, one that he hoped would tell him that no, he wouldn't be putting up with Thorin's asinine behaviour any longer. He would fulfil his contract, he would follow Thorin as leader, but he would never again let Thorin treat him as lesser, or as a burden. Even if he wasn't as experienced as the rest.

Thorin looked suitably chastised, which was enough for Bilbo. He nodded softly and lowered his head, looking back up at Bilbo with wondering eyes, eyes that held warmth inside for Bilbo once more, for the first time since that fateful night in Rivendell. The regard left Bilbo feeling a bit awkward, although he couldn't hold back a little smile. Perhaps things wouldn't turn out so bad after all.

And then they'd heard the warg howls.

 

* * *

 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire indeed. They were trapped.

And there was Azog.

Thorin felt his blood run cold, how could it be? How could he be alive? The spiked prong embedded in his arm gave testament to their last encounter, and yet, he'd lived.

Thorin saw how quickly a pack of wargs could take down trees as small as the ones they were taking shelter in, forcing them into retreat. He searched, helpless, for a way out, but he could find none. When Gandalf had lit the pinecones and rained them down on the wargs, the relief was temporary at best. The whole area had been set ablaze and the wargs driven back, but that was when the tree had given way. The fall was long. Far longer than was necessary to kill them all.

He hadn't even had time to reflect on Bilbo's return. On his honest, generous assurance of his loyalty. On his intense, determined gaze that had told Thorin, in no uncertain terms, just how much of a backbone he had, just how much fire filled him, smouldering softly like an ember until something made it flare up. That look had told him just how much of Thorin's crap Bilbo was going to take from here on out. And considering that Bilbo had been on his way out the door when all this had happened, the fact that he was still with them was miraculous.

Far from being annoyed that his supposed plan hadn't worked in the end, he was utterly relieved. At least now, he knew that Bilbo was safe. There was no more denial in him, the stone giants, the goblin tunnels, Bilbo's frank and eloquent declaration...everything that he had seen and felt since he had entered the Shire had coalesced into one, undeniable fact.

Thorin was completely, hopelessly in love with Bilbo Baggins.

There was no other explanation. And now that he was being honest with himself, he didn't want one. He wanted Bilbo. And, if he could find a way out of these blasted trees and to safety, he would find a way to win him back.

Then Thorin turned and had seen the triumphant look on Azog's face. He could not, would not fall to his death, leaving Azog behind in victory. If he was going to die, he would die fighting, a warrior to the last.

If he was going to die in front of his One, before restitution could be made, before he could tell Bilbo how he felt and what a fool he'd been, he was not going to do it in shame. He would take Azog down or die trying.

Unfortunately, it seemed that he would die trying. He had miscalculated, Azog was bigger, stronger, riding a massive warg, and he had the higher ground. The first blow hurt, but Thorin got up, determined. The second blow smashed into his chest and face, almost knocking him unconscious. When the white warg had picked him up and shook him, he'd thought it was the end. He only just managed to get his sword arm up to slash at the beast, but it worked, in that he threw Thorin away.

Landing on the rock hard enough to jar his bones wasn't what he'd been hoping for. Stars spun in front of his eyes, and he hung on to consciousness by a thread. He heard Azog call for his head, he saw the orc that approached, from the corner of his eye he saw the weapon rise for the final blow. Thorin grasped for his sword, but he couldn't move his body. He was paralysed by the shock, totally helpless.

Then a small red blur had slammed into the orc, knocking him aside and tussling with him on the ground before thrusting a glowing blade into its belly, killing it. Thorin gasped, his mouth working, trying to call out to Bilbo, to tell him to run, run while he could. He could not accept Bilbo's death here, not for the sake of Thorin's.

Thorin did not deserve such an honour.

But the words never passed his lips. As the blackness reached up for him be was dimly aware of the Hobbit in front of him, standing between Thorin and the pale orc, waving his glowing dagger awkwardly, his courage far exceeding his skill.

It was the last thing Thorin saw before succumbing to the dark, slipping into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

He awoke to see Gandalf over him, the sky now bright and blue above them, the rising sun giving it an orange glow. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to regain the ability to speak. Or move. Whatever wizardry Gandalf had accomplished, it had clearly taken them far from Azog and his minions.

“Bilbo,” he croaked, but nothing came out of his dry throat but a cracked sound.

“Shh, it's all right,” Gandalf replied, apparently knowing what Thorin had been trying to say. “He's right here, and quite safe.”

Thorin shifted, rolling over roughly, with jerky movements. Kili and Dwalin made an attempt to help him, but he brushed them off, determined to face Bilbo under his own strength.

“You! What were you doing?” he said harshly, his voice cracking with emotion and relief at the sight of the Hobbit. “You nearly got yourself killed! Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild and that you had no place amongst us?”

Thorin could tell by the expression on Bilbo's face that he was doing it wrong, that his words were being misunderstood. Of course they were, they were the same words he'd said to Bilbo before, but then, he'd been convinced they were true. Now, he knew they were not, that he'd been a fool.

“I've never been so wrong in all my life!” he exclaimed, his feet taking him closer, his arms reaching out to grasp him, overcome with the need to hold Bilbo in his, shaky, grateful arms. The expression on Bilbo's face had changed to one of astonishment, even as Thorin pulled him close, wrapping both arms around Bilbo's back and burying his face into the crease of Bilbo's neck.

He breathed deeply, his heart pounding like a hammer inside his chest, so relieved was he that Bilbo was safe, so grateful that he'd come back, amazed that he'd defended Thorin so hopelessly. He held Bilbo close, one am wrapped tightly around his waist, the other buried in his hair as Thorin pulled back, only far enough to press his forehead against Bilbo's.

“I'm so very sorry I doubted you,” he said, pulling back further to look into Bilbo's eyes.

“No, I would have doubted me to,” Bilbo replied. “I'm not a hero. Or a warrior.” He looked back at Gandalf for a second, before admitting with a chuckle. “Not even a burglar.”

“Perhaps not,” Thorin said, holding his arms to keep him close, suddenly afraid that if he let go, Bilbo would slide from his grasp forever. “But warriors and heroes are not the only ones who have courage. What you did...Bilbo, there is no courage stronger than what it takes to stand up for another in the face of certain death. I owe you a debt of gratitude I can never repay, especially after my appalling behaviour toward you.”

“Thorin, it's fine,” Bilbo began, but Thorin cut him off.

“No, it's not. It's very much not fine. You were right, I treated you as if you were only there for my pleasure, while holding you away with the vilest of words and the most inaccurate of excuses.” He took a few deep breaths, knowing that it wasn't enough...nothing he could say would ever be enough. He would have to show Bilbo how he felt, and that would take time. For that, he would need Bilbo to forgive him.

“I was such an ass, I...I can't even begin to apologize for how badly I've treated you, but I'm asking anyway,” Thorin pleaded, desperately, resting his forehead against Bilbo’s, pulling him closer once more. He closed his eyes, praying to Mahal and any of the Valar who would listen that Bilbo would forgive him for being such a complete and utter fool.

“Forgive me. Please, please, amralime, forgive me.” He could hear the murmur of those behind him, but he ignored it, focusing all his attention on Bilbo, watching his face for any sign that his deepest wish would be answered. He felt Bilbo sigh and then laugh weakly, so he opened his eyes, a thrill shooting through him to see the cheeky grin on Bilbo's face.

“Khuzdul won't work on me, Thorin,” he said, amusement in his voice. “I don't speak it, remember?”

Thorin laughed, unable to hold it back. The wry amusement on Bilbo's face was the most wonderful thing he'd ever seen.

“I'll teach you,” he offered, ignoring the protests from behind him, his eyes only for Bilbo.

“That's not necessary. Of course I forgive you, Thorin.”

The only response Thorin could muster was to gather Bilbo in his arms and kiss him soundly, soaking up the taste and feel of him, thankful beyond measure that he hadn't ruined everything forever. To his delight, Bilbo returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around Thorin's back, his lips soft and eager.

The cheers behind them rose as the Company members took obvious joy in their reconciliation, but as their voices trailed off and it became clear that the kiss was not going to end just yet, the clearing of throats and coughs of impatience moved Thorin to end it sooner than he would have liked, pulling back slightly, moving his lips over Bilbo's tenderly, with reverence.

“You realize of course, that I won't be putting up with any idiocy from you anymore...not a bit of it,” Bilbo declared, giving Thorin a stern, intimidating look.

“I know, and for that, I'm grateful,” Thorin said, agreeing readily. “I need you to stand up to me, Bilbo. I need to you tell me when I'm acting a fool.”

“Every time?” Bilbo asked, his brow arched. “I'll never get anything done!”

The Company burst into exuberant peals of laughter at that, and even Thorin couldn't stifle his.

“Cheeky,” he said, smiling at Bilbo without restraint. He thought for certain that his heart could not be any fuller, that it couldn't possibly contain any more happiness, but then he looked up and there, across a long, clear expanse of sky, was The Lonely Mountain.

“Erebor,” he breathed, Bilbo turning in his arms to look. He heard the rest of the Company crowding close enough to see.

“The last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth,” Gandalf said reverently, and Thorin's heart swelled with pride.

“Our home,” he whispered, holding Bilbo close as the mountain shone in the distance.

Soon, he'd be there.


	8. The Dwarven Art of Conserving Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puppy piles, running, running, and more running. When they are finally done running, Bilbo isn't sure just what to do. It's a good thing that Thorin has a plan.

The reprieve they had found atop the Carrock was short lived. Gandalf pushed them to move on quickly, and after the battle on the slopes of the mountains, where more than one of them had almost lost their lives, Thorin was more than happy to comply.

So, they ran...well, jogged, really. They didn't stop all that day, save two short breaks for meals, two of the sparsest, most pitiful excuses for meals that Thorin had ever been subject to. They had managed to find streams enough to keep their canteens filled, few as they were. Most of their gear had been lost in Goblin Town, and while Thorin regretted the loss, at least they all still had their weapons, and that was something.

When they camped for the night in a sheltered dell, Thorin insisted on extra eyes for each watch, assigning each family group to a shift, and shortened the shifts so that everyone could get some sleep. Everyone save Gandalf, who immediately departed to scout out the area, as was his wont.

Everyone fell into exhausted slumber as soon as they hit the ground, piled atop and around one another. They had no bedrolls or blankets, and they would risk no fire, so they slept very close together, in clumps made up of family groups as Thorin had predicted when he'd chosen the watch schedule, not wanting to leave anyone cold without a body to sleep beside.

Bilbo was the most susceptible to the cold, and had no family to sleep with, not that such a thing mattered to Thorin. Bilbo was his One, after all, and that made him family. He pulled Bilbo to a spot near to several other piles of mostly slumbering Dwarves, using his grip on Bilbo's jacket to pull him down. Thorin's coat was large enough for both of them, so he ensured that the side near the ground was spread out properly, and then tugged Bilbo in, flush against his chest. His head tucked under Thorin's chin and his feet tangled with Thorin's legs. He fit there as if he'd been made for it, and now, Thorin knew why, knew why he'd always fit into Thorin so well. Bilbo had been carved for him, he was sure of it. Of course he fit in Thorin's arms.

He wrapped the loose end of his coat around them both and then gestured to his nephews, leaving them to find a place. They wasted no time at all, Fili wrapping himself around Bilbo's back while Kili draped himself over them all, the bulk of his weight on Fili, with an arm and leg thrown across Bilbo and resting on Thorin.

“Gah,” Bilbo squeaked, once they were all settled. “I feel like I'm a flower pressed into a book,” he remarked in his dry, long suffering tone of voice.

“You'll stay warm there,” Fili said, his breath making Bilbo's hair flutter. Not two days ago Thorin would have been desperately trying to keep himself from punching Fili in the face if he'd gotten so close to Bilbo, but now...now he was just happy they were both here, safe and whole and alive.

“Why would you press a flower in a book?” Kili asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“Never mind,” Bilbo replied, squirming a bit until he seemed to find a comfortable place. After that, it was mere moments until the three of them were asleep, and Thorin felt the strain of the past few days leave him. He'd made his declaration now, for good or worse, and while Bilbo wasn't aware of just how powerful a statement it was, the Dwarves all knew. Gandalf as well, no doubt.

“Amralime,” he whispered into Bilbo’s curls as he felt sleep overtaking him. He'd have time to explain it all to Bilbo. Later.

 

* * *

 

When Bilbo woke in the predawn light, he was rather smushed and stiff. He found he couldn't move, and if it weren't for the warmth surrounding him and the smell of Thorin in his nose, he'd be afraid. As it was, Fili's light snore and the steady beat of Thorin's heart reminded him exactly where he was. He shifted as much as he could, only to find that Kili was properly on top of him now, his head pillowed on Fili's shoulder, his arm and hand half tangled in Thorin's hair while his leg was draped over Thorin's hip.

It was a terribly intimate pile of Dwarf he'd found himself in, especially after he had the alarming realisation that he could feel not one but three...yes, three suspicious bulges pressing into him. A strained squawk came from his throat unbidden, especially when he considered Thorin's words from Rivendell.

He was pressed between Fili and Kili now, with Thorin added for good measure. He...wasn't sure how he felt about it, if he was honest with himself. Fili and Kili were both good-natured, attractive lads, and while Bilbo had never considered them in that sense, and still didn't, it was all but impossible not to be flattered and even a bit aroused by the sensation.

Fili was plastered to his back, and Kili had him pinned entirely with his comparatively large body. Meanwhile, it was Thorin who held Bilbo's full attention. He was wrapped as much around Bilbo as he could be, one arm under Bilbo's head, and no doubt Fili's head as well, now that Bilbo thought about it. His other arm was wrapped around them both as well...Bilbo couldn't feel anything at his back but Fili.

Fili's arm must have been wrapped around his brother, but where was his...oh...now that he was paying attention he could feel that Fili's other arm under his shoulder. Bilbo was willing to bet that half their limbs were asleep from lack of circulation by now.

Thorin snuffed into his hair, drawing Bilbo's perusal back to him, enjoying the feeling of his legs tangled with Thorin's, their hips pressed together. And that...that was unmistakeably Thorin's erection. Bilbo would recognize that anywhere. His own began to make itself known, and for a moment he mourned the fact that there would be no release this morning. For any of them. Now that he was more awake, he was certain that the bulge nudging his lower back belonged to Fili, and the matching length against his hip was, in fact, Kili's.

As awkward and uncomfortable as he felt, wrapped up, not in the one Dwarf he was accustomed to, but in three slumbering Dwarves, he could admit Fili was right.

He was very warm.

And he was suddenly aware that someone was approaching. Given the soft tread of boots, so at odds with the usual clomping, it must be Gandalf. Another moment and he was proved to be right, as Gandalf himself crouched behind Thorin's back, a wrinkled hand reaching and touching Thorin's shoulder lightly, even as he met Bilbo's eyes with a smirk and a wink.

From there, it was like a chain reaction.

Thorin looked up, noticed Gandalf and nodded, rolling backwards and pulling himself away from Bilbo and to his feet in one swift movement that caused Kili to slide down and, for a swift moment, Bilbo really was pressed between the boys. However, the movement woke both of them, who then untangled themselves from Bilbo and were up, almost as fast as Thorin. Bilbo was the only one left on the ground still, but that didn’t last either, as Fili reached down and picked him up, setting him on his feet as both the brothers dusted him off together.

“Morning Bilbo,” Kili said with a cheeky grin. “Sleep well?”

“As well as I could under a pile of Dwarves.”

Fili laughed and pointed out, “you were warm though, weren't you?”

“Indeed,” Bilbo admitted. “It's not as bad as all that, I suppose.”

“We've never had any complaints before,” Kili added, giving Bilbo a cheeky wink. Fili slapped him heartily on the shoulder, and they both followed Thorin, who was across the camp in discussion with Dwalin.

The rest were waking up quickly, and it occurred to him that they'd never been woken for a turn at watch. The reason for that was soon apparent, as he approached Gandalf and the others.

“You need rest too, old man,” Thorin was saying, earning a chuckle from Gandalf.

“Not as much as you,” Gandalf replied. “I am able to refresh myself in other ways, and at the moment, the rest of you and your Company is much more pressing. As is the need to move on. We cannot be sure that we are not being followed, in fact, I am certain that the chase will begin again, and soon.”

“You're right, we need to leave,” Thorin said, turning to face the group at large, sparing a moment as Bilbo reached him, giving him an encouraging smile and reaching out to lay a large hand on the back of Bilbo's neck, squeezing affectionately.

“Everyone up and ready,” he called, getting the attention of all the other Dwarves. “We leave in five minutes. We'll stop at the stream for a moment to rinse off the sleep and refill our water.”

Everyone moved to obey, gathering their meagre possessions and stretching out the kinks from sleeping on the hard, cold ground, however warm their puppy piles may have been. Bilbo didn't have anything to gather, realising that he'd slept with the sword still attached to his hip, that most of the Dwarves, including the three he'd shared a pile with, had slept with their weapons attached. How they were comfortable like that, Bilbo would never have guessed, but then again, he'd not noticed, even with Fili and all his knives pressed against him, and he'd been as comfortable as possible, all things considered.

Bilbo looked up to find Thorin staring at him. The warmth from the morning before was still in his eyes, his lips curved in a thoughtful smile.

“What?” he asked, very aware that Thorin's hand was still wrapped around his neck, his thumb slowly moving on the skin behind Bilbo's ear.

“You slept well, I hope?” he inquired, pulling Bilbo closer and pressing their foreheads together. Bilbo had seen such an action several times before, it seemed to be how the Dwarves showed affection, encouragement, or their relief that their loved ones were still alive and well. Sometimes it was a bash of skulls, which made Bilbo's head ache in sympathy, though he was certain the Dwarves were not bothered by it, and sometimes it was a gentle press, in the manner Thorin was employing now. Previously, Bilbo had no real inkling of how intimate it was, especially considering the look in Thorin's eyes and their passionate history.

The closeness and heat that radiated from Thorin merged with the flush of awareness he'd felt when waking up pressed between three very appealing males, all of which no doubt showed on his cheeks very plainly in the now bright sun.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I was very warm.”

“Good.” Thorin moved closer and leaned in, pressing his lips to Bilbo's in a very gentle kiss, one that shot right to Bilbo’s core nonetheless, leaving him a little bit shaken. “We'll need to sleep that way for a few nights yet,” he added, pulling back from Bilbo. “It's too risky to chance a fire, and the nights are getting colder. Might as well use whatever heat we've available to us.”

“Oh. I suppose that makes sense,” Bilbo agreed. It had been rather effective. Thorin tugged him to where the others were gathering, and called, “Let's move!”

 

* * *

 

They were running again. Only this time, it could not be considered a jog, as there was a definite threat following right after them. Bilbo thought his lungs would explode, but just when he thought he'd given everything he could, Thorin reached out and grasped his hand, tugging him along until Bilbo felt a second rush of adrenalin, which gave him the strength to continue. Suddenly they were through the hedge and then, inside the house. Once the door was secured and the bear moving away, Bilbo allowed himself to breathe, gasping in exhaustion and relief as he took in his surroundings.

The house was huge, and the furnishings fit it well. Bilbo felt as if he was in a house of giants. Not even the man sized furniture of Bree was this large. The Dwarves milled around, confused and alarmed with the knowledge that their host had been the one to try and kill them, but when Gandalf suggested that they get some rest, the others began to move deeper into the house, finding places to settle in for a night, covering themselves with cloaks and coats as best they could.

Bilbo stood senseless for a few minutes, trying to shake himself into action. He was utterly exhausted, but he also felt keyed up, his body still humming with leftover adrenaline. He knew he needed to sleep, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to. What he really needed was Thorin.

Since their reconciliation they had been on the run, and had slept in a pile every night with Fili and Kili. Bilbo was grateful that they had kept him warm during the coldest hours, but he had woken every morning to the distinct prodding the he could not mistake, and had felt his own hardness rise where it pressed into Thorin's. It had been maddening, but his body had been too exhausted to even consider taking it further. Until now.

But where was Thorin? Bilbo looked around, trying to find him, but he couldn’t see anyone moving. It seemed that everyone had settled themselves while he'd stood in front of the door like an idiot. There was nothing for it, he'd have to find himself a place to sleep. He moved toward the stable-like area at the back of the house, to the straw where the Company had chosen to bed down. Before he'd taken two steps a hand reached out from the shadows and tugged him in another direction entirely.

“Come,” Thorin whispered, and Bilbo went. He could only hope that this was going to lead where he wanted it to. Thorin led him past the hearth area into a small side room, one that looked like an extra storage space. It wasn't terribly large, but it was warm, and Thorin had somehow found several blankets and cushions, which he had piled on the floor.

“Cushions?” Bilbo asked, amazed. “Where did you find those?”

“On the shelves, above,” Thorin replied, and Bilbo looked up to see shelves lined high with an immense variety of items. “I thought you would rather sleep in a bit of privacy than share a bed with Fili and Kili again.”

Bilbo chuckled, grateful for Thorin's thoughtfulness. “Indeed...as warm as it was, I'd much rather spend my nights with just you. If you want.”

“If I want?” Thorin asked, incredulous. “There's nothing I want more, Bilbo...but, do you? Do you want to continue our more intimate relationship or...”

“Oh, yes please,” Bilbo said quickly. “I don't just want to be friends, I mean...I'd like to be friends, but I would very much like to pick up where we left off. And the next time you decide to ignore or belittle me, I'll smack some sense into you much sooner.”

“Yes, I hope you will,” Thorin agreed. “Or rather, I hope you will never have to.”

“Right, then.” Bilbo stared up at Thorin, his body frozen as it had been at the door. It seemed, however, that Thorin wasn't willing to make the first move. Despite Bilbo's assertion, he seemed uncertain about his welcome, and Bilbo was a little thrilled to see it. Thorin needed to know he wasn't in charge of everything, after all.

On the other hand, Bilbo very much wanted him in charge during moments like this. There was something about being the focus of all that power, of having all Thorin's strength and determination fixated on one thing, on bringing them together in passion. It was humbling...and so very arousing.

Now though, it seemed that Bilbo would need to take matters into his own hands, so he did, tugging at Thorin's surcoat, pushing it up until it tipped off his shoulders. Thorin let it fall to the floor without complaint, and when Bilbo leaned it to pull him down for a kiss, he went willingly.

More than willingly. The kiss spurred him into motion, and he slid his hands around Bilbo's waist, letting them slide up beneath his coat, the strong fingers massaging him firmly. Bilbo moaned deeply into the kiss, his body flushing all over as he felt Thorin's hands on him again, pulling at his clothing as if they'd never fought, as if they'd never stopped.

He didn't want to stop. He tugged just as desperately at Thorin's clothing, wishing it all gone in an instant. Thorin though, didn't seem as concerned with his own clothing as with Bilbo's and soon Bilbo found himself naked, while Thorin was still mostly dressed, kneeling before him in boots, trousers and tunic. At least Bilbo had managed to removed the top two layers, at least he could feel the shifting muscles of Thorin's shoulders beneath his fingers as he clutched at them for strength. Thorin was pressing his lips against Bilbo, sliding them across his collarbone, nipping gently and sucking small marks into his skin, his hands moving across Bilbo's back and over his backside.

Bilbo found his hands slipping into Thorin's hair, carding through the silky strands as Thorin made his way lower. Bilbo knew where this was going, and he had to stop it before his knees gave way and he collapsed on top of Thorin. He tugged ineffectively on Thorin's hair, finding that, as so often happened when they were together like this, he lost all control over his powers of speech.

“Thorin,” he managed to gasp, even as Thorin's beautiful, wondrous mouth took him in, employing all his numerous skills to reduce Bilbo to a shaking mess. His climax was much too fast in coming, and he didn’t want to end it so soon, he wanted to last, to feel Thorin's skin against his before he came...but Thorin, it seemed, had other plans.

His hands were moving with as much resolution as his mouth, seemingly determined to touch Bilbo in every way that made him shiver, that made his pleasure ramp up, and Bilbo was undone when his deft, blunt fingers reached inside Bilbo's cleft, opening him to the air before pressing inwards, the sensation of rough calluses in such a delicate place was excruciating, while Thorin's mouth threatened to draw the very life from Bilbo through his erection.

When he came it was almost too much, too intense, too fast. Thorin took it all in, never letting up his grip on Bilbo's shaft, his fingers still questing behind him, and in moments Bilbo became what he'd feared, a mess of shaking limbs and weak muscles, all strength leaving him as he collapsed into Thorin's arms gracelessly.

Thorin caught him, sliding his mouth off Bilbo's quickly softening shaft, his eyes glittering wickedly as he let Bilbo fall completely into his arms, supporting him as he laid Bilbo back on the cushions.

“I've missed this,” Thorin said reverently, stroking every part of Bilbo's skin he could reach, drawing goosebumps in the wake of his callused fingertips. “But mostly I've missed you.”

“I, uh...I've missed you too,” Bilbo replied, his eyes closed as he drifted between sleep and awareness, letting Thorin's caresses soothe his tingling nerves. He didn’t fall into sleep, however, as Thorin's hands began to move with purpose once more, kneading at Bilbo's softness before stopping altogether.

“Wha...” Bilbo began, lifting his weary head to find where Thorin had gone, though had his brain had been in working order, he would have known immediately. Sure enough, Thorin was stripping, tunic off already, boots and trouser disappearing before Bilbo's heavy lidded eyes. His body was as strong and beautiful as Bilbo remembered, though the surprise of it made his own exhaustion was very apparent to him, as it had not barely been a week since they had last done this. Of course Thorin didn't look any different.

And then he was done and leaning over Bilbo, the heat of his bare skin warming the chill that Bilbo hadn't even known he was feeling. Thorin covered all of him, his body not just larger, but broader in every aspect. Bilbo felt very small under him, but it wasn't the kind of small that made him fear, that brought out the apprehension he often felt around the Men and Dwarves of Bree. It was a feeling of being protected, of being gathered up under Thorin and cared for.

Bilbo liked it. A lot. He liked how big Thorin was, how easily he could guide Bilbo's body and limbs in the way that best pleased him. The way he could pin Bilbo down with one hand and take what he needed. And yet, even when they had fought, even when Thorin was at his roughest and most unrestrained, Bilbo knew he'd nothing to fear. There was nothing to worry for. Thorin would stop at the slightest hint from Bilbo, he had before and Bilbo knew with utter surety that he would again. Bilbo didn't need to be strong physically, he didn’t need to pin Thorin under him in order to claim his power. One word was all it would take.

He felt safe in Thorin's arms.

Just at that moment, the safety of those massive, muscled arms was not high on Bilbo's list of thoughts. Just then, he was thinking of how amazing they felt, wrapping Bilbo in an embrace, pulling him up off the makeshift bed to straddle Thorin's lap as he knelt. Bilbo could feel the muscles in Thorin's thighs, the solidness of his chest, the tenderness in the arms around him, the breadth of Thorin's shoulders beneath his hands...it was all for him, and he liked it.

“Bilbo,” Thorin whispered heatedly, kissing him with a tenderness that turned to need, deepening the kiss until Bilbo felt himself rising up again, the blood that had been flowing in his veins converging back into his growing erection.

“Do you want this?” Thorin asked, thrusting up against Bilbo, and that was when he noticed the hot, hard shaft pressing into his buttocks, seeking Bilbo's heated entrance.

“Yes,” Bilbo answered, his voice still a bit shaky from his recent orgasm. “But...we don't have any oil. Again.”

Thorin ducked his head, resting it on Bilbo's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said, lifting up to meet Bilbo's eyes, the shame and sorrow in them bringing Bilbo back down to earth.

“Don't,” Bilbo said. “Stop apologizing for what you've already received forgiveness for. Besides, it's not your fault that I lost my pack in the Goblin Tunnels.”

“No, but it's my fault I left the vial we'd opened in Rivendell, when I was determined to be rid of you and believed I'd never need it again.”

“Oh.” Bilbo wasn't sure what to say to that. “You really wanted rid of me, then?”

“Yes, I...no,” Thorin answered, lowering his head in shame again. “I didn’t want you anywhere but where you are now, but I had convinced myself that you were a weakness, that the quest relied on me having a head cleared of all thoughts of you.”

“I didn't realize you thought of me that much. It certainly never seemed so.”

“Which is what I wanted you, and the others, to believe. I wanted myself to believe it, as well. And yet, I wasn't successful in any way.” Thorin met his eyes, bringing a hand up to cup Bilbo's cheek, his fingers sliding into Bilbo's hair and tracing the edges of his ears. “My head has been filled with nothing but you since I walked through your door, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo didn't know why, but Thorin's words, his hushed, insistent tone, unsettled him. He was too intense, even for Thorin, and it made Bilbo uncomfortable. He thought he could come to like Thorin very much, truthfully, he was rather fond of him already, despite the behaviour that had nearly driven him home, but Thorin's tone made him wonder just how much Thorin cared for him.

“I've finally realized that the only way to deal with it is to give in. But it took you almost leaving to wake me up.”

“So you were awake,” Bilbo said, thinking back to Thorin's quick reactions on the night they had fallen into the mountain.

“Yes. And despite having pushed you away with purpose, I still felt sick for making you feel that your only recourse was to leave us and travel home alone. It...” Thorin breathed deeply, the pain in his eyes hurting Bilbo as well. “It was poorly done. It was a mistake, and I will never stop being sorry for it.”

“I know. But I've already forgiven you, so if you would stop beating yourself up about it, I'd appreciate it.” Bilbo smiled at Thorin and was pleased to see an answering smile. “Anyway, all this talking about the mistakes of the past has been detrimental to the purpose of you having me naked behind a closed door.” Bilbo was fully awake now, and well recovered from his first round.

“I'm quite ready for round two, if you don't mind, your majesty,” Bilbo demanded, pushing himself down and feeling Thorin's interest renewed.

“Don't your majesty me, Hobbit,” Thorin growled, his grip tightening as he bit at Bilbo's neck, pushing upwards as Bilbo pressed down. “I'll have you use my name and nothing else.”

“If you, ah...insist,” Bilbo was losing control of his words again, as Thorin pulled his cheeks apart, rubbing his hardness across Bilbo's entrance. “Wait,” he said, clarity returning momentarily. “We still don't have oil.”

Thorin stilled, his eyes roaming the room as he muttered, “there must be some, the beast has everything in here...oh, there.”

He stood, taking Bilbo with him. Bilbo yelped in surprise, his arms tightening around Thorin's shoulders as he took two steps, reached onto a shelf and brought a tall, thin bottle back to the nest with them, completely uninterested that he'd hefted Bilbo's weight around with one arm.

It interested Bilbo however, he loved seeing the evidence of Thorin's great strength, and feeling it moving under him was enough to have him at full hardness again. Thorin settled back onto his knees and gave the oil to Bilbo and held his hand out. Bilbo knew exactly what he wanted, pulling the cork out and dribbling some onto Thorin's waiting hand.

He'd barely had time to re cork the bottle when Thorin's finger was pressing into him, in and out steadily as Thorin sucked at his collarbone, ramping up all the sensations once more, making Bilbo impatient.

“Okay, enough, let's go,” he said, tugging Thorin's head up and kissing him soundly, his tongue mimicking what he wanted to feel from Thorin.

“No, not yet,” Thorin gasped once he'd pulled away from Bilbo's insistent lips. Bilbo, despite having finished once already, was becoming desperate and needy again...his state of mind not helped by the fact that his erection was pressed between his own belly and Thorin's rock hard stomach. The friction and pressure was exquisite and overwhelming, the only thing that could be better at that moment would be Thorin inside him, stretching him wide for the first time in a week.

“Yes, now!” Bilbo demanded, lifting himself up and reaching back to grasp Thorin's erection himself. His hand clutched at Thorin's, slick with oil and spreading it over his shaft. Bilbo was in no mood to wait any longer, sitting down, their hands working together to guide Thorin inside.

Then he was in, and Bilbo hissed as the girth of him burned, his muscles familiarizing themselves to Thorin's invasion. Bilbo pushed down further, knowing that he'd be tender in the morning, but not caring enough to wait. Gandalf had said that they would likely be staying here for several days, so Bilbo knew there would be recovery time. Even if they didn't stay, it didn't matter. After years of unwilling celibacy, he had thrown himself into Thorin's arms eagerly and had quickly become accustomed to having regular sex. He knew a time would come when he'd go home and Thorin would remain at Erebor, and he'd have to set all of it aside, but this was not that day, so he was in no humour to wait.

Thorin's arms around him were like a bands of steel, one wrapped around his hips, the other across his back to clutch at the opposite shoulder, and despite his reluctance to finish the prep, he had embraced the moment, thrusting inside Bilbo as if stopping would cause him to fly apart.

“Ah, ah, ah...” Bilbo cried, the sounds forced out of him, loud and careless of any who might hear him. Thorin's voice was not any quieter, his grunts and growls matching Bilbo's in volume and frequency. His second climax rose up inside him, slower than the first, and Bilbo could feel every minute detail as it approached.

Thorin came with a roar, his stuttering hips sending shocks through Bilbo, the pressure on that spot increasing as the head of Thorin's cock expanded, shooting his release deep inside. He was so, so very close, and when Thorin took a mouthful of his skin and sucked on it, scraping it with his teeth, that was all Bilbo needed to find his peak, his head thrown back as his bellow of completion filled the room.

Bilbo didn't remember much after that...he knew that Thorin laid him down and wrapped the blankets around them, uncaring of the mess they'd made. He knew that Thorin pulled him close, his body wrapped around Bilbo's completely as he drifted into slumber. He remembered hearing Thorin's deep, scratchy bass whispering to him in Khuzdul, but he didn't know the words and was too insensible to remember them.

He was warm and comfortable and completely sated, finally unresisting as sleep claimed him.


	9. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The House of Beorn is a sanctuary, unlooked for. Bilbo is just happy he's no longer sleeping in a pile of Dwarves. One is plenty.

Bilbo awoke to a hot, hard body pressed against his back and broad hands running across his body. Lips were on the back of his neck, laying light kisses and rougher bites in turn as he was stroked all over, his back, his legs, around and over his hips, across his belly and up to his chest. One hand gripped his neck and paused, pressing him back into that hot mouth while a steel shaft rubbed forcefully into his rear.

He couldn't help but moan wantonly, his morning erection quickly hardening into a real one as Thorin pressed him down into the cushions with the fervour of his desire. Bilbo loved this. Loved the heavy weight of Thorin atop him, the greediness of his hands and the desperation of his mouth, seeking out every part of Bilbo that he could reach.

Giving this up was going to be hard.

But right now, the only hard things Bilbo were concerned about were well in hand. Literally. Thorin had reached around him and was squeezing and pulling at his shaft even as he pressed against Bilbo's entrance. And then, he sunk his cock into Bilbo, smoothly, with only the slightest of burns.

“Ah, Thorin,” Bilbo cried, griping the cushion beneath his head with white knuckles, hanging on for dear life as Thorin's hand and cock and the heavy press of his body brought him quickly to the point of no return.

“Yes, Bilbo,” Thorin replied, growling the words into his ear. Thorin's hair was surrounding them like a veil, the tickle of it on his skin did nothing to ease his frustration, only adding to the sensations he was awash in. When his hole clamped down on Thorin's cock and his own pulsed in Thorin's hand, he let out a guttural moan that ripped though his chest and out of his mouth. The sound was soon absorbed into Thorin's mouth, as he pulled back on Bilbo's hair and took him in a rough kiss, not even a kiss, more an open mouthed tongue bath. It was only a few moments later that Thorin followed, filling Bilbo for the second time in a few short hours. Considering that they'd had to go without for a week, they certainly were making up for lost time.

Long minutes passed as they lay in the dimness of the storage room, the only light coming from under the door. Bilbo's limbs felt heavy, and, as sore as he was, he hadn't felt as content in a very long time. He couldn't remember a time he'd felt this way. As a matter of fact, he never had. All of his sexual experiences in the Shire had been lovely, ranging from tweenish fumbling to more mature romps, but nothing in his life had ever prepared him for how intense such a relationship could be. That was the difference between a young lover and a more experienced one, apparently.

It was also the difference between a Hobbit lover and one who was a Dwarf. The fact was, Hobbits were not made the same way...they were much more inclined to slower, more comfortable lovemaking. Even the fumbles of youth were much less fervent and energetic than the shortest of encounters Bilbo had experienced with Thorin. Few Hobbits would be interested in such an athletic, all consuming sexual relationship, but Bilbo had never been an ordinary Hobbit.

His current situation proved that most definitely.

“Now that,” Bilbo said once he'd been able to catch his breath, “is my favourite way to wake up.”

Thorin's chuckled reverberated through Bilbo, sending goosebumps over his skin, still pressed together as they were. Thorin had shifted to the side, to allow Bilbo the ability to draw air into his lungs, but his cock was still firmly pressed inside Bilbo's slack hole.

“I'd wake you like that every morning if I could,” he replied, nuzzling the too long strands that curled over Bilbo's neck. “For as long as you wish it.”

Again, Thorin's words left an unsettled feeling in Bilbo's gut, but then he moved, sliding back and forth inside Bilbo, his cock only half hard but the sensations were still there. Thorin was big enough that it didn't matter.

And then, it did matter. Bilbo could feel Thorin hardening. Again.

“Eru,” Bilbo said, his voice a whisper, his breathing growing fast again. It had only been a few minutes, ten, maybe fifteen. How could Thorin be ready again so soon?

“How, uhhh...how are you ready...again, how...” Bilbo stuttered, the member inside him stretching him once more, this time from the inside. It was a unique sensation, one Bilbo hadn't been prepared for.

“This is what you do to me, amralime,” Thorin murmured in his ear, pulling Bilbo onto his side, his movements slower this time around. “I just can't help myself when you're naked and wet beside me.”

Thorin's hands were moving as well, one dancing across Bilbo's chest, rubbing against nipples that had never been so sensitive before, but now, in Bilbo's hypersensitive state, they were hard and peaked, sensitive to the insistence of Thorin's fingers. His other hand was gently squeezing Bilbo’s softened cock and, amazingly, it was responding to Thorin's ministrations.

This was nothing like anything they'd done before. Before, it had always been more...frantic. It had been faster, blistering passion running hot and fierce, even when they'd had time to spare.

But this...this was something else. No less passionate, no less needful, but languid, purposeful. Thorin's lips were tender against Bilbo's neck, pulling the skin into his mouth softly, his breath hot against the wet skin he left behind.

Thorin took his time. His fingers and mouth worked in concert with his cock, playing Bilbo like an instrument, and for the first time, Bilbo believed the stories he'd been told by Thorin's nephews, stories that told of their Uncle's much lauded skill with the harp. He was plucking Bilbo's nerves with practised skill, drawing feelings out that he'd never imagined were possible.

Bilbo had no idea how long they were at it, only that, when they were done, when Thorin came inside him, when he found the edge of Bilbo's release and nudged him off it, Bilbo was left nearly insensate.

When he came back to himself, Thorin was still beside him, his face slack with sleep, his limbs heavy across Bilbo's chest and legs. Bilbo stared at him for far longer than was justifiable, perhaps. He reached out, carefully so as not to awaken him, pulling back the hairs that had been trapped under Thorin's cheek, and tucking them back with the rest, spread across his broad back. His hand lingered, brushing across the thick beard that covered Thorin's cheeks and chin. It was much softer than it appeared, dense and black and alarmingly attractive.

Bilbo was a Hobbit, and, as a rule, Hobbits did not find facial hair at all alluring. And yet, Bilbo could not deny that Thorin's beard was perfect. It framed his strong jaw, pulling Bilbo's gaze to his red, lustrous lips. It made him look distinguished, potent, powerful. Bilbo had never given any thought to what a beard could do for a face before, but he knew now that he would never dismiss it again. Thorin was as beautiful in sleep as he was awake, but without his brilliant eyes shining from within, he seemed more vulnerable, and so, so much younger than is 195 years.

Bilbo turned away, his chest tight and his stomach roiling, his head filled with Thorin and all that had happened. It was too much to take in all at once, so he rolled away, carefully displacing the dead weight that was Thorin's limbs. His bladder was calling to him at any rate, his stomach not far behind.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was alone with he woke for the second time that morning. The space beside him may be empty, but his heart and mind were full, filled up with the sensations of being with Bilbo.

“Mahal,” he whispered in shaky Khuzdul, his eyes drifting closed with reverence. “Thank you for bringing him to me. Please, if it be possible, let me keep him. I will do everything in my power to endeavour to deserve him. You know how I need him, as it is you who have carved him for me. I begin to understand your plan, to understand why you've carved my One from the earth and not from stone. Stone is unyielding, it will break with enough pressure, but earth...earth is malleable, alive and enduring and fertile. Earth brings forth life, and anything planted will grow there. You have planted my heart within him, oh Creator, and I will water it and watch it grow in his keeping. I will make myself worthy of him.”

With that prayer in his heart and mind, Thorin pulled himself out of the nest he'd made for them, folding the blankets and putting away the cushions, fully prepared to take them out again that night. For now, he heard the voices of his Company on the other side of the door, and if that wasn't enough incentive to leave, his aching stomach would be.

Surprisingly, he found very few of the others in the kitchen. Some were washing up, in the room toward the back of the house, built for that purpose, some were lazing around where they'd bedded down, chatting or dozing. Many were seated at the table, eating or chatting, but only Dwalin was in the kitchen proper.

Thorin approached him with a nod, reaching past to take a handful of nuts from the bag in Dwalin's hand. They munched for a moment in silence, before Dwalin broke it, broaching the topic Thorin knew had been coming. Dwalin had yet to say anything about his relationship with Bilbo, but Thorin had known all along that the reprieve would be short lived. Dwalin would speak when he felt the need to speak, and not before.

“So when will ye make an honest Hobbit out of him?” he asked, giving Thorin a look that spoke volumes more than his words. The look told him in no uncertain terms that Dwalin believed he should have already. It may have been surprising to many, but Dwalin was a traditionalist, and was unlikely to approach a relationship from the back end, as he would consider Thorin's path to be.

“I...don't think he's interested in all of that,” Thorin replied, a sick feeling settling into his stomach that had nothing to do with his only mildly sated hunger.

“Really? Why not?” Dwalin demanded with a frown.

“Because he's never given any indication of such. Because he's still set on going home after the quest is done. But mostly, because I've hardly given him a reason to accept me.”

“He sounded pretty accepting last night,” Dwalin commented wryly, staring side eyed at Thorin. “And this morning.”

“Yes, well,” Thorin couldn't deny that. Bilbo was always accepting...when it came to the sexual side of things. “That's different.”

“Why?”

“Because is is, Dwalin, “ Thorin insisted. “He doesn't love me, for one thing.”

“But you love him?”

“Aye, I do. He was carved for me, I'm certain.”

Dwalin took a step back and looked at Thorin with wide eyes.

“Indeed? Well, that settles things,” he said at last.

“No, it doesn't. He's not a Dwarf. Hobbits don't love as we do.” Thorin felt the painful truth of his statement in his gut.

“But if he was carved for you, then he'll be feeling it, too,” Dwalin insisted. Thorin had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Dwalin was a traditionalist and quite the romantic, really.

“And I hope he will. I don't believe he feels it now, but if I deserve him, perhaps in time, he will.”

“It's an awfully big gamble,” Dwalin said, and all Thorin could do was agree.

“It is,” he said. “But it's a gamble I'll have to make. I can't take my heart back now, Dwalin, no matter what happens.”

“Hmmph,” was all Dwalin had to say in reply to that, but Thorin was saved from any further remarks by the much appreciated interruption of Gandalf.

Their host was in the yard, and it was time to meet him.


	10. Tedium...it's not all it's Cracked Up to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo learns a few things, and ponders a few more. There's nothing but time to think between Beorn's and Mirkwood, after all.

Beorn was...intimidating, to say the least. Bilbo knew he was gentle and extremely fond of all his animals, the evidence was everywhere. He also knew that Beorn was the last person who would hurt him and yet...he was so very big. It was alarming. Add to that the fact that the skinchanger was very fond of Bilbo, calling him little bunny and picking him up whenever he had the chance. Bilbo made a habit of staying very close to Thorin.

Luckily for him, Thorin didn't mind in the slightest. His eyes filled with warmth every time Bilbo sought him out. It seemed as if they spent as many hours sharing a pipe or sitting quietly as they did engaging in other, less public activities.

Fortunately, Beorn was willing to help them, although Bilbo couldn't help but wonder if they hadn't had troubles with Orcs, would he have been quite so willing? In the end, they were well kitted out with plenty of food, the majority of it nuts and raisins and other things that are easy to pack and would provide them with needed protein. Beorn had warned them of the enchanted river and had also warned them not to kill or eat any animal from the forest. Considering that it could take a long time to traverse the forest, it was a for the best.

All the fuss and worry that Gandalf and Beorn were exhibiting wasn't doing a whole lot for Bilbo's confidence about this part of the journey. He really had no idea what to expect. None of the others did, either, and that was not helping. Gandalf seemed preoccupied, his mind working hard at puzzling something out, and Thorin was becoming increasingly short tempered the longer they stayed.

Luckily for Thorin, none of that temper had overflowed onto Bilbo, in fact, he seemed to take great comfort from Bilbo, whenever he had the chance. He was still snappy and irritable, so Bilbo found himself doing what he could to distract Thorin. If that meant plenty of quality time in the storage room or behind the woodshed, then it was a sacrifice that Bilbo was willing to make.

When they left the house of Beorn, Bilbo wasn't sure how he should feel, exactly, and there were more than two worries plaguing him. For one, being in a cozy, if somewhat oversized, house made Bilbo long achingly for the Shire and his familiar hearth at Bag End, more than he had even during the worst of the journey to that point. The second was Thorin. Despite being a big pile of crankiness, Thorin wasn't behaving terribly badly, in fact, considering what lay ahead of them and all the issues that Thorin was no doubt facing, he was handling it rather well, Bilbo thought. He wasn't snapping at anyone in particular, even if his words were a bit short and his muttered comments a little on the caustic side. Still, his attitude toward the Elves of Mirkwood and the necessity of following the Elven path through the woods could not add up to something good. Bilbo feared what may be ahead of them.

The third and most pressing worry in Bilbo's mind was the forest itself. Once named Greenwood, it had been significantly down graded to Mirkwood. Admittedly, Bilbo hadn't been there, so he was in no position to judge either way, but the name did sound ominous. He hadn't known what to expect through the whole journey, but now he knew he knew to expect bad things.

Before too long, they were off. Despite not being a fan of ponies in general, Bilbo was very grateful for the loan. They would cut their travel time from Beorn's to Mirkwood down from about two weeks to less than one. Not that he was eager to get there, but there was still the threat of Orcs looming. It was doubtful Azog had decided to give them up, especially considering the way they had escaped from right under his sword.

At least this time, Bilbo didn't have to ride a pony by himself. There were not quite enough ponies to go around, and several of the Company had to double up. Ori and Nori were riding together, as they were both on the smaller side, comparatively, and Bofur had doubled up with Kili. Bilbo thought he had the best place, however. Riding across the Wilderland was much more enjoyable when he didn't have to guide the pony, and even more pleasant as he was able to lean against a strong chest, feeling secure with Thorin's arms around him. It wasn't an enjoyable journey in any sense of the word that Bilbo had known before, but compared to other parts of their trip, it was downright wonderful. Being able to sneak a few naps on the road didn't hurt.

Neither did the fact that their riding arrangements left plenty of time for conversing with Thorin. True, he was irritable and on edge, but Bilbo had so far been able to distract him quite readily, even without any clothes coming off. Thorin, at Bilbo's encouragement, told him stories of his early life in Erebor, tales of the boys growing up, even some stories about his brother, Frerin. Bilbo's heart ached when he talked of Frerin. Losing his father and grandfather had hurt him deeply, the loss of Erebor was an open wound that Thorin seemed almost protective of, but the loss of his little brother was like an amputation. He would never be rid of the pain of it.

In his turn, Bilbo told Thorin about his life in the Shire, stories about more than just how much he missed it, though that fact did colour his tales. He spoke about the people he knew, family and friends. His Took and Brandybuck cousins were always a good place to start when telling a tale, and Bilbo found that some of the other ponies gathered around in those moments. Fili and Kili, in particular, loved to hear about the mischief that young Hobbits were prone to, however much Thorin insisted that they didn’t need any more ideas.

Bilbo also talked about his parents. About the Fell Winter and how his father had never really been the same after that. About how his mother had faded after Bilbo's father grew ill and died when Bilbo was only just thirty-six, his mother following when he was forty-two. Thorin was stunned to learn how relatively young Bilbo had been and indeed, how young he was in comparison with the Dwarves. When he told Bilbo that Fili and Kili had several decades on him, and they were still considered barely of age, Bilbo was floored. Thorin was just as floored to learn Bilbo's age, despite knowing that Bilbo was comfortable middle aged, by Hobbit standards.

“But, fifty!” Thorin repeated, and Bilbo found himself rolling his eyes, again. “I admit, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

“Well, I'll be fifty-one soon,” Bilbo pointed out. “A few more weeks, I think...what day is it, anyway?”

“I'm not sure exactly, that's something you'd have to ask Gandalf.”

“Ahh, well, my fifty-first birthday is the 22nd of September, and by Hobbit reckoning, I'm quite a well grown gentlehobbit.”

“Fifty-one,” Thorin said, still amazed. “I knew Hobbits aged differently, faster than Dwarves, but it's still difficult to accept.”

“What's more difficult is that you're almost two hundred! Even if I was already aware of that, it's still surprising.”

“One hundred and ninety-five isn't that old, for a Dwarf,” Thorin said, and now it was Bilbo's turn to shake his head.

“You're four times my age, Thorin. There have been generations of Hobbits that have come and gone while you've lived.”

“And yet, I am not old by the reckoning of my people. I may yet have more than a century left if I'm lucky. Most who die of old age do so between two-fifty and three hundred, but many also live well into their third century.”

“Well, you don't look old, anyway,” Bilbo admitted, surprised that after all this time and everything he'd gone through with Thorin, that he could still blush over admitting he was attractive.

“Shall I take that as a compliment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, pulling Bilbo closer with one hand and running his nose up the curve of Bilbo’s ear.

“Take it however you like,” Bilbo said, but he couldn't keep the tremor from his voice, nor could he keep himself from squirming back against Thorin, just a little.

“Dwarves tend not to show their age until they are truly reaching the end of their lives,” Thorin explained, and Bilbo was happy that he didn't continue with his teasing. There were too many people around, and they were much too far away from that evening's camp for Bilbo to get worked up.

“Is Balin that old, then? Or Oin?”

“Not that old, really. And while they both have white hair, they have not lost their energy or vitality, and bear no signs of doing so. Their minds are still quite sharp as well. That is a much more important factor.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Bilbo said, considering.

“Also, the changing of hair colour is something that varies from Dwarf to Dwarf. For instance, Dwalin is actually a few years older than Oin, and his hair hasn't begun to turn at all.”

Bilbo started, turning to look at Thorin. “Dwalin is older than Oin?”

“Indeed. Only two or three years, I believe. It's hard to keep it all in order.”

“Well, after almost two centuries I'd imagine you'd forget some things.” Bilbo thought about all he'd learned for a few minutes, and then asked, “so, who is oldest in the company then? Balin?”

Thorin's chest vibrated with a throaty chuckle. “No indeed. Can you not guess?”

Bilbo's brow creased in contemplation. “Well, you've said that Oin is younger than Dwalin, and I know that Dwalin is younger than Balin...so who does that leave? Bifur? His hair is also rather white, although not completely. Or Dori, for that matter.”

“You're still thinking in Hobbit terms, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his amusement very evident.

“Oh, yes, of course. Well then...” he trailed off, still for a few moments before turning almost completely in the saddle to look at Thorin, stunned.

“It cannot be you!” he exclaimed, quite aware of the fact that he must have a face like a fish.

Thorin laughed a little louder this time. “Indeed, I am the eldest of our little group. Well, not counting Gandalf, of course. I believe he is older still than the Elves.”

“But you look so...so...” Bilbo stuttered, unsure of how he wanted to continue. The truth is, Thorin appeared stronger and more alive than any of the Hobbits Bilbo knew, of any age.

“So what?” Thorin prompted, an eyebrow raised, clearly interested in how Bilbo would complete his statement. “You knew my age, does knowing there are none in the Company older than I such a shock?”

“Well, you look quite young,” Bilbo admitted. “You are very attractive, and, uh...vital.” Another word beginning with v came to Bilbo's mind, but he could not bring himself to say it out loud.

“And yet, I am indeed the eldest Dwarf here,” Thorin confirmed. “As you know, I am one hundred and ninety-five years. Balin comes next, at one hundred and seventy-eight. He's followed by his brother and then Oin and Gloin, respectively. The rest span down from there.”

“How fascinating,” Bilbo said, pondering it all. “Then, who is the youngest? I doubt there are any who have lived fewer years than I, however mature I am counted amongst Hobbits.”

“Many would think that Ori is the youngest among us, but the truth is, it's Kili.”

“Oh,” Bilbo replied. “I suppose that's easier to understand.”

“Indeed,” Thorin agreed. “Kili is seventy-seven, while Fili only has five years on him, at eighty-two.”

“So, they'd be tweens or...just of age. Well, they certainly act like it.” Bilbo couldn't help but laugh a little. Some things were universal, despite the difference between the races.

“I almost didn't bring them, but in the end, they need to do this with me. If I die, Mahal forbid, Fili will be King. He must have a part in the reclaiming of the mountain.” Thorin's voice was tight and strained. “They had not been tested in battle, but they are both talented and intelligent. They needed to come, and they have acquitted themselves admirably.”

“Which is a roundabout way of saying you're proud of them.” Bilbo couldn't help but smile to himself. Thorin was immensely proud of his nephews, and loved them deeply. It was apparent in everything he did, the way he treated them, the way he worried about them.

“Perhaps,” Thorin admitted. “But don't ever let them know I said that. I want them to work for it.”

“Oh, don't worry, I won't,” Bilbo said with a chuckle. “Their heads would be so that large even the ponies wouldn't be strong enough to carry them.”

Thorin laughed, giving Bilbo another squeeze and kissing his ear. Bilbo couldn't help the shudder that went through him. He and Thorin hadn't had a single chance to find a more than a quick moment together since they'd left Beorn's. They were on high alert for the following Orcs, which meant no sneaking away from camp, especially unarmed and...well, if they did, their attention would not have been on what else was around them. A few furtive fumbles between their shared blanket had been the extent of it.

Being this close to Thorin and yet unable to do anything during the entirety of their four days on the road, Bilbo was starting to get a little fidgety. He was certain that Thorin wasn't much better off, there was a definite pressing against Bilbo's rear when they were this close. Of course, Bilbo ended up with an uncomfortable erection as well, which is not something he'd been accustomed to during the journey.

“I miss you,” Thorin whispered in his ear the day after their conversation about comparative ages...the day they were hoping to reach the Elven Gate to Mirkwood. The forest was a dark line on the horizon but had they come far enough north to find the path, that was the question.

“I'm right here,” Bilbo replied, confused. Then Thorin slid his hand down Bilbo's chest and palmed Bilbo's suddenly awake cock, and he realised just what Thorin meant. He squeezed, and Bilbo let out a rush of air, not realising that he'd been holding his breath. “Thorin, what are you doing?”

“Touching you,” Thorin said simply. His hot breath on the back of Bilbo's neck left him shivering, and suddenly very hard.

“You shouldn’t,” Bilbo hissed, trying not to push himself into Thorin's hand, but failing.

“Yes, I should,” Thorin replied, leaning close enough so that Bilbo could feel his lips move when he spoke. “Everyone is ahead of us, I'll keep an eye on them.”

“That's beside the point,” Bilbo insisted. “Now is hardly the time.”

“There is no time lately, and likely will not be once we're in the forest, either. Now is the only time.”

“But,” Bilbo began, but Thorin interrupted him.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice lowered in a not quite whisper, his lips sucking gently at Bilbo's neck. Bilbo breathed deeply, trying to come up with a reason why it was a bad idea.

“Yes,” he said before he'd consciously decided to. Thorin growled quietly, and pulled his hand back, wrapping his coat around the both of them, encouraging Bilbo to hold it closed in front of them.

“How is this even going to work?” Bilbo asked, breathless, but then Thorin's hand was slipping into his trousers, and he gave up trying to figure it out.

It was shockingly quick. The roughness of Thorin's hand was tantalizing, he didn't even wrap Bilbo in his fist, simply pressed his erection against his belly, inside his clothing. He bit lightly at Bilbo's ear as his hand moved, pressing and rubbing intently. Their precarious position and chance of discovery combined with the long missed sensations had Bilbo coming in Thorin's hand within moments.

“I've never felt like such a tween in all my life,” Bilbo said, once his breathing had levelled out. “Even when I was a tween.”

“I can imagine,” Thorin said, laving Bilbo's neck one last time, his hand still pressing against Bilbo's now softening cock.

“What do we do now?” Bilbo asked, having given no thought to the mess when he'd agreed to this little experiment.

“In the right inner pocket of the coat,” Thorin said. “Handkerchief. Slide it down into my hand.”

Bilbo complied, muttering half under his breath. “Where on earth did you get a handkerchief?”

“At Beorn's” Thorin answered simply, handing Bilbo the reigns with his free hand, and using it to clean the other quickly. The soiled handkerchief went back into his inner pocket and then he took the reigns again.

“What about you?” Bilbo asked, but Thorin shushed him as Dwalin drifted back toward their pony.

“I'll be fine,” Thorin said. “It would be far too difficult to clean up after, and I am a Dwarf, after all.”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said. “You'll endure.”

“I will. Having you close and satisfied is enough. For now.”

“All right, have it your way. But perhaps we could sleep a little further from the rest tonight?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Thorin agreed, and that was the end of it.

 

* * *

 

It was a few short hours later when the finally found the Elven Gate.

“Here it is, then,” Balin said, giving the gate a wary look.

“Indeed,” said Gandalf. “And this is the path you must take, for to go around would delay you by several months, at the very least.”

“How long will it take to get through?” Bilbo asked. As of yet, there had not been a firm answer to his question.

“Several weeks, perhaps three, if you're lucky,” Gandalf replied.

“If we're lucky?” Thorin asked, noting the words that Gandalf had chosen. “You are not coming with us?”

“I cannot,” Gandalf replied. “I will stay with you tonight, but I must depart before the sun tomorrow.”

“When the path is at its darkest, you'll leave us?” Thorin said in a harsh voice. “Why?”

“I did not promise you I would be along for the entire quest, Thorin Oakenshield. I have remained as long as I was able, but now I have other tasks that need tending. I am not responsible for you alone.”

Bilbo gripped Thorin's wrist, staying his next words, for the sake of peace, and his eardrums, if Thorin were to begin yelling at Gandalf while Bilbo sat in front of him.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“I do not know how long I will be, but I hope to catch you up before you reach Laketown. If that fails, I will meet you on the overlook outside the ruins of Dale.”

“We hope,” Thorin growled, making Bilbo grip his wrist tighter.

“On no account enter the mountain without me,” Gandalf added, and Bilbo felt a sense of foreboding at his words.

“Well, that is all for tomorrow, at any rate,” Balin pointed out. “Let's find a place to camp...if we're lucky, we'll be able to have a fire this evening.”

“If we're lucky,” Thorin agreed.

They were. Not very far away from the forest they found a rocky depression, with just enough cover to allow them a fire and giving them a reasonable amount of defence.

Bilbo was grateful for the fire, and for the rabbits and pheasants that Kili had been able to bring down with a new bow supplied by Beorn. It meant hot food, and not only that but meat. There had been no meat at all since they'd crossed into the Misty Mountains. Everyone gathered around the pot eagerly, and it wasn't long before the meal was gone, leaving Bilbo just on the un side of satisfied.

Perhaps in apology for his intention to leave them, Gandalf offered to take the watch that evening and, surprisingly, Thorin accepted without argument. Bilbo set up the bedrolls that he had Thorin had been sharing and hunkered down, still shivering despite the closeness of the fire. He had to admit, he'd not chosen wisely when he'd packed a hasty bag and dashed out of the door of Bag End. His coat was worn and tattered where it had once been fine, and although it was well suited to an autumn evening in the Shire, it was completely useless during a cold night spent outside in the Wilderland.

Fortunately, Thorin left Gandalf moments later and joined him, wrapping Bilbo in his arms and pulling the blanket over them both. Bilbo sent a thought of gratitude to Beorn for supplying the blankets, they meant the difference between sharing one warm space with Thorin and being in the middle of a pile of Durin's line. Fili and Kili were sharing their own blanket, to Bilbo's relief.

Thorin didn't just pull the blanket up to their shoulders but covered their entire heads, as the blanket was quite a bit longer than either of them needed. It had become a habit, to snuggle close under the thin fabric and indulge in a few scarce moments of near privacy. That is when Thorin let his hands wander perhaps a bit too far, considering the Dwarves not a few feet away, but Bilbo's favourite part was all the kissing.

He'd always enjoyed kissing, and Thorin was very good at it. At times brutal and demanding, at times tender and soft, he milked as much sensation from the simple slide of lips and tongues, pushing Bilbo from aching need to utter contentment and back again. They never took it further, not least because Bilbo wasn't willing to throw off his Hobbitish propriety altogether, but on that night, Bilbo wanted Thorin to experience what he had that afternoon.

His hand snuck down and found Thorin's erection before he could stop it. Usually, Thorin tried to keep their hands above their waists, as it helped them put a stop to their activities before things went too far. On this night, Bilbo was triumphant, and Thorin didn't resist when he tugged Thorin's trouser just open enough that he could press his hand against Thorin's bare flesh, for the first time in days.

Bilbo had to kiss him harder when Thorin's mouth went slack and he moaned, far too loud for their current position. But he didn't stop his hand, squeezing and pulling Thorin's cock until the Dwarf was thrusting into his grip, his fingers digging into the flesh of Bilbo's back.

“Bilbo!” he gasped, tearing his lips away and panting roughly as Bilbo twisted his hand on each stroke, pulling Thorin higher and closer to his peak with every pass over the ultra sensitive head.

“It's your turn, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, encouraging. “I want you to come for me, but be quiet about it, understand?”

“Yes, ye...ungh,” Thorin agreed, descending into needy vocalizations, words having fled. Bilbo kissed him again, pulling Thorin's tongue into his mouth and thrusting back as he squeezed and twisted again, and then Thorin's mouth was slack once more, his moan pitched high and desperate. Bilbo felt the splash of hot come on his hand, smearing it over Thorin's pulsing cock with each stroke.

Thorin's head rolled forward, pressing their heads together and panting harshly, a sharp whine escaping from his throat with each pass of Bilbo's hand on his spent and sensitive cock.

“Now, how are we going to clean this mess up?” Bilbo asked with a smirk, but Thorin could only shake his head weakly. “Don't worry, I have a plan,” Bilbo supplied. Then he ducked his head under the blanket, inching down until he could reach Thorin's groin with his mouth, licking Thorin's come off his hand before cleaning the rest from Thorin's cock and navel.

That work Thorin up a bit, and he grasped a handful of Bilbo's hair, muffling his gasps into his own arm while Bilbo finished the job, giving one last swipe of his tongue over the soft head, just for good measure.

“Bilbo,” Thorin rasped, his voice deep and rough, sending shivers of pleasure throughout Bilbo as if Thorin's voice was attached to all his nerve endings. “You are filthy, did you know that?”

“I'll have you know I'm considered the height of propriety and respectability back home,” Bilbo insisted. “It must be you, bringing out the depravity in me.”

“It must be,” Thorin agreed, kissing Bilbo again, as soon as he'd resettled himself. “I wouldn't trade it for anything.”

Bilbo laughed nervously, again unsettled by Thorin's words, by his intensity. He was beginning to suspect that Thorin's feelings ran much deeper than his own. He settled his head into the crook of Thorin's neck, his erection long since softened. This could become a problem. Keeping away from Thorin would not be possible, or desirable, even if he could accomplish it. The Dwarf was far too persistent for that, and Bilbo did not have the will or desire to put him off.

Still, he was going to have to find a way to address this little issue. If it was indeed an issue. The thought of a powerful and beautiful Dwarven King falling in love with Bilbo Baggins of The Shire was unlikely at best. Perhaps he'd just been reading too much into it. Bilbo comforted himself with the thought that he must be mistaken, that the close contact had skewed his perspective. He snuggled closer, reveling in the great warmth that Thorin provided. There was no rule that said he couldn't take advantage of the situation, was there?

He'd figure the rest out later. They had time.


	11. Getting from Here to There is Easier Said than Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spiders, prison, barrels and the World of Men. Erebor is so close they can taste it.

Mirkwood was definitely living up to its name. They'd been traversing the forest for a few days now, and Bilbo was beginning to feel...off. Things were not okay, with him, with Thorin, or with any of the Dwarves. Both Beorn and Gandalf had warned them about the hallucinogenic powers of the forest, but that isn't exactly something you can plan for.

Bilbo felt like he was walking around in a fog. A very confused, upside down world kind of fog. It was bad enough in his head, but when all of them were under the same strain, it was starting to break them down on a basic level. They were arguing over nothing. They could not recognize obvious things that were right in front of them. They could barely even see straight, and it seemed that everything was out to get them. Paranoia was rampant. So was irritability.

Mirkwood was not a nice place.

Getting over the enchanted river with only Bombur falling prey was nothing less than a miracle in Bilbo’s mind. Of course, it had to be him who fell, as he was the heaviest and most ungainly Dwarf possible. And they had to carry him. At least Bilbo didn't have to...he couldn't have reached the litter if he tried, never mind have the strength to carry it.

The days went on like that, one after another, passing in a fog of unseen whispers and watching eyes. Every night the eyes watched them, huddled on the path with their fire the only light to keep the darkness, and predators, at bay. They were well over a week in, and Bilbo was shocked they hadn't lost the path yet. But there was another problem. They were running out of food. Despite all the rationing they were going through it at an alarming rate. Even more alarming, when Bilbo considered that Bombur was asleep and therefore, not eating.

They were low on water as well. They had not come across another stream since the enchanted river, and they were not so lost in the head as to take any water from that. Things were getting desperate.

Then, and Bilbo wasn't even sure how it happened, they left the path. The Dwarves scattered and he was left there, calling them to come back, but his voice was unheeded and he was left with two equally bad choices. Leave the path and catch up with his friends. Or stay and lose them forever.

Bilbo left the path.

Keeping them together was harder now, and Bilbo wasn't up for the task. He was barely keeping himself together as it was. Thorin was keeping his head, but only barely. They had spent their nights huddled together for warmth and comfort, but there was nothing of a sexual nature going on...truthfully, Bilbo felt like he was struggling to keep his head above water. All he could do was concentrate on continuing, on putting one foot ahead of the next, until he felt he was walking backwards. Or was he? He couldn't tell anymore.

Finally, he was sent up the tree to scout out the area, and it proved to be the best thing that could have happened to him. As soon as he burst through into fresh air and daylight, he felt the life surge back into him, his head ringing with a clarity that he had forgotten was possible. He was stunned, staring at the tops of the trees and beyond. It was all right there. They were on the doorstep.

And yet, they weren't. The forest under him went silent. There was not a peep from his Dwarves. Which was odd. They weren't exactly a quiet bunch at the best of times, and for the last few days they had been bellowing at each other constantly, and arguing with themselves as well. They had screamed their frustration and laughed incessantly at nothing in particular. They were a mess.

And now, they were silent. This was not good.

 

* * *

 

It turned out, freeing the Company from the spiders was the easy part. Finding a way out of Thranduil's Halls...not so much. They had been there for over a week, the Dwarves locked away and Bilbo in the grey, shadowed land on the Ring. Bilbo was grateful for the Ring as it allowed him free access to the entirety of the woodland fortress, and yet, wearing it too long made him feel pressed and sick.

He tucked himself away in dark shadowed corners during the quietest times of the night. He tried hopelessly to sleep, in the end he could only doze fitfully, terrified that he would be discovered while not wearing the Ring. He was exhausted and hungry, having been able to steal only a fraction of the food he would have liked, ever fearful of discovery.

In addition, he missed his friends. They were all right there, he had walked amongst their cells many times, making sure they were all right. But he could not speak to them, for fear of discovery, and because he had no idea how on earth he would explain why his presence continued to go unnoticed. He did not want to tell them about the Ring, though for the life of him, he couldn't say why not.

He spent more time than was probably healthy standing or sitting outside the door to Thorin's cell. He wanted to tell him, desperately, that Bilbo was here, that he was working out a way to save them all. He wasn't sure what stopped him, not really. Was it the fact of the Ring, or was it that he could not bear to see how Thorin's face would light up to see him, only to fall into disappointment upon realisation that Bilbo had not found a way out.

He would wait until he had a plan. Then he would tell Thorin.

And yet, Bilbo could not find a way out. Every entrance and gate was locked tight, and while the Dwarves in their cells did not require a constant guard, which is something that Bilbo could work with, there were regular patrols. He would have to find a way to pilfer the keys.

Which was easier said than done. Even if he could manage it, he had no idea how to get them out of the fortress. The only piece of good luck he'd had was to find the room where the Elves had put all of their weapons and outer clothing. But there were two problems with that, the first being that Bilbo could not get the things to them without making many trips, and anyway, the Elves were sure to notice that their prisoners were suddenly well dressed and armed.

The second, the room was in the cellars, close to the very lowest point of the woodland fortress. In the exact opposite direction of where they would need to go in order to escape.

Or so he had thought. When the solution finally came to him, he knew that it could not have come a day earlier. He had no way of knowing that the cellars led to the river, and if he had, he could not possibly have asked the Dwarves to toss themselves in. And then, there was the other factor, the one that scared him the most.

Bilbo could not swim. He was a Hobbit, after all, and Hobbits were no fans of water any deeper than that which filled their bathtubs. Or lapped around their calves, in a river or pond. He was, quite frankly, terrified of the river. And yet, it was the only way. And, if they were to be successful, they would have to go almost immediately. The keeper of the keys and his partner were working themselves into their cups at a steady state. He had only to be patient, wait for them to pass out, and he would strike. He would wait until the keepers fell asleep, steal the keys, then wait for the patrol to check the prisoners, let them out and lead them down. A quick stop to grab their things and just like that, they'd be out.

If only it had been that simple.

By the time they had washed up out of the river, sopping wet and battered, Bilbo was rethinking the whole idea. Of course, by then it was too late and they were out of the Woodland Realm, so really, the plan had worked. Except, they had no food and no way across the lake. And Kili was hurt. Bad. He tried to deny it, pushing away Fili and Oin whenever they tried to get a look at him, and that in itself said a lot.

Meeting Bard was their salvation...but like every strike of good luck they had found on this journey, it came with a dark lining.

 

* * *

 

Thorin could not have loved Bilbo more if he'd tried. The Hobbit was extraordinary. How he'd managed to stay hidden during their time in prison was anyone's guess. Thorin for one, had no idea how he could have accomplished it. And yet, he did.

Thorin's faith in him had been justified a million times over. True, it had hardly been a dignified escape, but then again, what escape is, in the end? They had all made it out alive, and Thorin was thrilled. One arrow wound, after all that? Also, they had their clothes and weapons back, which was a huge boon.

If only Orcrist had been amongst their things. Thorin would miss his Elven blade, loathe as he was to admit it, but considering how the princeling had oogled it, it was no surprise that he had kept it for himself. Or worse, given it to his father. Thorin was definitely not pleased, but at least he still had Deathless. The sword had served him well for many years, and it would continue to do so. Orcrist was a small price to pay for their freedom.

That was the good part of their escape...after that, things went from bad to worse. They had to give the majority of their coin to the bargeman so he would smuggle them into Laketown. They were forced to enter his house through the toilet, of all disgusting things, and to make matters worse, Bard had heard Thorin's name and realised who they were and why they were there. He was out of the house, apparently discovering that Thorin was indeed the heir to the throne of Erebor, when they slipped out under cover of darkness. They were heading to the docks to find a boat that could fit them all, or two, if need be, when Kili tripped and fell, crashing into a bench, over flower pots and planters. The ensuing ruckus alerted the guard, and now, here they were, pleading their case to the Master of Laketown, a greasy, pinched looking fellow with much self importance and little intelligence. The idea that such a man could have a drastic effect on the fate of his Dwarves and the Quest rankled at Thorin.

The Master appeared to be on the cusp of giving them the help they needed and letting them go when Bard arrived, spitting his ire and fear to the crowd in a desperate attempt to turn the tide against them.

They were at a standstill.

That is when the Master's equally greasy assistant asked if there was any amongst them who would be willing to vouch for the Dwarves, for Thorin. When he considered that the only person in Laketown who knew them at all was campaigning against them, Thorin began to lose hope of them escaping the town at all.

Until Bilbo stepped forward, his face set, his eyes steely. Thorin sucked in a breath, eyes wide. Bilbo was magnificent in that moment, as he was in so many others, and Thorin's heart beat faster, thanking Mahal again for sending Bilbo to him.

“Me,” he said, lifting his chin. “I’ll vouch for him. Now, I have travelled far with these Dwarves through great danger, and if Thorin Oakenshield gives his word, then he will keep it.”

Thorin could not help but let his feelings for Bilbo swell up inside him, almost taking his breath away. He smiled at Bilbo, tipping his head in acknowledgement, knowing from the cheers of the crowd that Bilbo's words had turned the tide.

Bard continued to push, but when it was pointed out that his ancestor failed to kill Smaug, Thorin knew that they were safe. The Master would give them food and supplies, and let them go.

He was right. The Master agreed to grant them all the supplies they needed, and boats to get them across the lake. In addition, he offered them accommodation, going so far as to throw a feast in their honour. While it wasn't much of a feast, the food was hot and it meant warm, comfortable beds and a chance to catch their breath before moving on.

Thorin agreed to stay for two nights, still leaving them plenty of time to find the door, while giving them the time they needed to recharge. And the time, he hoped, to let Kili's leg heal.

Thorin was worried about him. Since he'd been shot, his nephew had been growing steadily weaker and greyer, and there seemed to be nothing that Oin could do to help. The truth was beginning to set in...Kili in this state was a liability, not only to their speed, but to their ability to fight the dragon, if need be. And Thorin was certain Smaug was there, sleeping and biding his time, waiting for someone to disturb him, in an attempt to steal his stolen treasure, so that he could destroy them.

He shivered at the memory of dragon fire, how hot it was, how it spread without the need of an accelerant, how it sounded when it roared past him. It was not a thing to be trifled with. How could he possibly think of putting Kili in a position where his injury could cause his death? It was unthinkable. And yet, to leave him behind was equally so. Thorin was at a loss, being pulled by both his head and his heart. He would have to make a decision, and soon.

Perhaps Kili would heal with the rest and food. Thorin held on to the thought, and hoped that the next two days would bring a change.

He was running out of time.


	12. The Threefold Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is beginning to have doubts, and all Bilbo can do is hang on and hope for the best. In the meantime, he could help with a distraction, perhaps?

Laketown was an oasis in the middle of a long, dreary sexless desert. Thorin could not wait for the sexless part to be over. With their plans firmly settled and their provisions arranged for, there was nothing left to do but rest, eat, clean their clothing and sharpen their weapons. Unfortunately, just when Thorin thought he could pull Bilbo away and lock their bedroom door, the Master decided to engage Thorin in a long, boring conversation about the gold and how much he was going to get. Thorin's patience was thinning, more quickly with every second that passed.

The Master was not just greasy and creepy, he was selfish, greedy, devious and clearly didn't care one bit about his people. He lived in relative luxury...the furnishings in the house, his clothing, everything was worn and faded, but the house was warm and the food, though bland and unappetizing, was plentiful. It was a far cry from the state of Bard's kitchen, and Thorin knew that there were many who were less well off than Bard. Which is to say, not well off at all. There were also casks of ale and plenty of wine, in addition to the brandy that the Master preferred.

And he preferred a lot of it. Thorin's distaste for him grew as he drank more and more, becoming more insistent that Thorin agree to his wildly exaggerated terms. Thorin's patience was nearly at an end. He did not want to have anything to do with such a man, but his cooperation was necessary to their quest, so Thorin held his temper in check. He would need to make his escape soon however, if he intended to leave without punching the slimy man in the face. And to think, he could be spending this time in his room. Alone. With Bilbo.

Besides, all the talk of mountains made out of gold and the flowing of silver fountains was making him itchy. There was a restless twitch in his muscles that demanded he leave this place now and go to Erebor. He couldn't suppress the desire to see the gold, to gauge how much there was, and although he insisted to himself that it was simply so he could know how best to divide it, a deeper, darker part of him just wanted to be there, to be in the middle of it.

The gold was calling to him.

Thorin knew that this had been a danger. He knew how the madness had taken his grandfather, how it had twisted him into a Dwarf all but unrecognizable. How he had cared for the gold above all else, even over the lives and well being of his kin. Thorin was determined it would not happen to him.

And yet, he couldn’t deny the itch that buzzed under his skin, the anger that surged up whenever the Master spoke of his share. Thorin would keep his word, he would reward the man with proper payment for his assistance, but he would not be happy about it.

And none of that compared to his need to find the Arkenstone. It was more than a token to gain the allegiance of all seven kingdoms, including the one he was born to, it was more than a family heirloom. It was the divine right to rule the mountain, to enact his judgement upon all who came under his authority. It was proof that he was the King. That Erebor, and all its treasure, was his.

Thorin shook his head to clear it, having lost the plot of what the Master was saying almost as soon as he'd started speaking. It seemed he had moved away from the topic of the gold, and was currently ranting about Bard and his rebellious, treacherous ways. Thorin didn’t believe Bard was in the slightest treacherous, though he could not blame the bargeman for rebelling against such a man as the Master. He cared much more for the people of Laketown than the Master, by far. Thorin sighed, breathing deeply to restrain himself from drawing his sword and ending this farce. He had to get out of here. Not to Erebor, just away. He needed Bilbo. Of course, that was when the familiar voice cut into the master's tirade, a voice sent from Mahal himself to save Thorin from the Master, and from himself. Bilbo always seemed to know what he needed, and when. Thorin closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of thanks to his maker.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo sat with Balin beside the fireplace, an ale in his hands while his feet warmed, filling his whole body with a slack sense of relaxation. His belly was filled for the first time since leaving Beorn's, and his head spun pleasantly with the smoke that billowed above them. Finding a satisfactory pipeweed in Laketown had been a very happy surprise.

He looked around the room, noting how happy and relaxed the Dwarves looked. They were in varying stages of drunkenness, having had their fill of the food earlier that evening. Most of them were smoking, as the Master had gifted them some of the weed, and they had used some of their meagre coin to procure more. They were happy, well fed, plied with drink and on the doorstep of Erebor. There was a feeling of celebration about the evening, even Kili looked happy, although on the grey side, and Bilbo couldn't help but be swept up in it.

Then his eyes swept over to Thorin, and that's where they remained. Thorin had been reluctant to stay in Laketown, but had been convinced by their ragged, starving state. They still had several days before they needed to find the hidden door, and that time was best spent resting and refuelling.

Thorin, however, did not look particularly rested or relaxed at the moment, and Bilbo knew the reason why. The Master was talking at him, and Thorin looked as if he was trying to keep from drawing his sword, or punching the man in the face. Bilbo couldn't blame him. The Master was a sorry excuse for a human being, and Bilbo admired Thorin's restraint. Still, he had been trapped in the conversation long enough, so Bilbo finished off his ale, tapped the ash out of his pipe and said a quick goodnight to Balin, ignoring the knowing twinkle in his friend's eyes.

He tucked the pipe into his pocket and made his way across the room to Thorin, smiling at those he passed, but avoiding getting drawn into any conversations, determined on his course. As he drew near he saw Thorin frowning, and Bilbo could see the signs of a temper barely held in check, along with the weariness that constant travel and stress could bring, topped off with the tedium of the Master's company.

Bilbo reached them at last, moving to stand beside Thorin, to catch his attention.

“Excuse me,” he said politely, cutting the Master off in mid rant, not caring if such a thing would be considered rude. There was only so much of the Master one person could stand, and from the looks of it, Thorin was quickly reaching that point.

“I'm sorry sir,” he continued. “But I need a quick word with Thorin, I hope you don't mind.” He smiled graciously, turning his back to the man and leaning up, tugging Thorin down by the hand to whisper in his ear. Thorin's face revealed his relief, and he leaned down eagerly, his other hand resting on Bilbo's hip.

“We have a warm bed in a private room and I'm heading up there now. Are you coming with me?”

Thorin stiffened, his hand clutching Bilbo's hip tightly. When Bilbo pulled back, his eyes were wide and his mouth opened, his breathing suspiciously ragged. Bilbo stepped back, raising a brow in question.

“Yes, thank you Master Baggins,” he said, his voice like velvet to Bilbo's ears. He looked up at the Master and nodded. “There are important matters I must attend to, please excuse me.” The Master blustered, but could not refuse, having no reason to keep his captive audience.

Before he could respond, Thorin turned, the hand at Bilbo's hip sliding to the small of his back, leading him away and to the stairs. Bilbo went eagerly, it having been far too long since they'd had time to themselves. It took mere moments to climb the stairs, and then they were through the door to Thorin's room, and the door was closed behind them.

“Well, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his voice quiet and seductive. “Now that you have me here, what do you intend to do with me?”

“Can you not guess?” Bilbo replied, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, taking his waistcoat with it. He smiled widely at Thorin, who followed his example, undoing his belt and pulling off his own clothing, until he stood bare chested before Bilbo in trousers and boots.

“I have an idea,” he said, but Bilbo only raised his eyebrows, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Really?” Thorin pulled his boots off as fast as he could, padding toward Bilbo in bare feet.

“I thought I'd lay you out on the bed, suck you until you're ready to scream, and then ride you until we're both a mess.”

Thorin stopped, halfway across the room, the look on his face made Bilbo chuckle, it was slack with lust, his eyes wide, his breaths ragged and deep.

“Bilbo, that's...uhhn,” he trailed off, watching avidly as Bilbo pulled his shirt out of his trousers and off his shoulders. He swallowed, his eyes following Bilbo as he moved toward the bed, undoing his trousers as he went. Bilbo left them partially undone, climbing up onto the bed, a little more awkwardly that he'd like, but Thorin didn't seem to care, if his wide eyed stare was any indication.

“But first I want you to come over here and suck me until I come. It's been a while and I'd like to be nice and loose when you prep me.”

Thorin shook himself out of his stupor and approached Bilbo, running his hands up Bilbo's legs and splaying them across his belly. “That sounds amazing,” he said, having found his voice once more. “But can we do it tomorrow?”

Bilbo's head shot up off the bed. “Tomorrow? Don't tell me you just want to go to sleep,” Bilbo said, his brow furrowed. “The erection in your trousers speaks differently.” For good measure, he lifted a foot and ran his toes across the straining bulge before him, making Thorin groan and lean in, falling onto his hands, eyes closed.

“Bilbo, stop...just for a moment,” he said, opening his eyes, a plea within them.

“Okay,” Bilbo said, completely confused now, but he pulled back a bit, sliding out from under Thorin and sitting up on the bed, patting the spot beside him, which Thorin took gratefully.

They sat silently for a moment, and Bilbo just watched Thorin curiously. He had no idea what was going through Thorin's head, but his was at a loss. Thorin had never said no to sex, ever. Bilbo had been the one to set limits on what they did and where they did it, not that their journey had given him a reason to limit it lately. They hadn't so much as touched each other that way since they entered Mirkwood.

Finally he reached out and rubbed his hand up Thorin's arm, moving closer to rest his hand on Thorin's broad shoulder, leaning into him, hoping Thorin would relax.

“Thorin,” he said gently. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing!” Thorin exclaimed quickly. “Nothing's wrong, it's just...I wanted to ask you for something, and tell you something, and I'm not sure how to do either.”

“Oh. Okay, well...why don't you start at the beginning.”

Thorin sighed, running a hand though his hair and leaning back into Bilbo. “The fact is, I'm worried,” he said simply. “And I don't feel like I can talk to any of the others. I'm sure they'd understand and support me, but I truly feel that you are the only one who can really help. I am not your King, after all, and you have never been afraid to stand up and tell me when I'm wrong.”

“Yes, well, I've always been rather out spoken,” Bilbo said with a laugh, hoping to ease some of Thorin's tension, tensions he could feel in the tight muscles across Thorin's back. “It's partly why I wasn't all that popular in The Shire, despite being a Baggins.”

Thorin nodded, turning to look at Bilbo and giving him a sad smile.

“What are you worried about?” Bilbo asked, leaning further into Thorin's side, lending him what support he could with his mere presence.

“Remember what Gandalf and Elrond were discussing in Rivendell? You overheard them, as did I.”

“I remember,” Bilbo said quietly, wondering why he hadn't thought of it right away. It was the gold. Thorin was worried about going mad, as his father and grandfather had before him. No wonder he hadn't wanted to discuss it with the others.

“I fear that I too, will fall to that fate.”

“Thorin, you are not your father. Or your grandfather.”

“Yes, I know. But I am of the line of Durin. I have the same weaknesses.” Thorin closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his shoulders tensing even more.

“And yet, you possess many strengths which they did not. Your life has taken you down paths that they could never have imagined, Thorin. You are not the same,” Bilbo insisted.

Thorin was silent, his fingers twitching. If possible, he was more tense even that before. Bilbo had no idea what to say that could ease his fears. He did not believe that Thorin would fall, he was certain that Thorin would be triumphant where his forebears had not.

“Thorin, has something happened?”

“No,” Thorin said with a sigh. “Not yet. But I feel...itchy. Restless. I feel a pressing urge to go to Erebor. Now. I want...I want to see the gold. I keep telling myself that it's only to gauge it, to plan a strategy. So we'll know how to divide it, how to properly put it to use. But the fact is, I simply want to see it...to touch it. To feel it around me.” He shuddered, bone deep and chilling. Bilbo felt goosebumps prickling his skin.

“Thorin,” he said, but there was no response. He shook Thorin lightly, pushing his shoulder back and twisting until he was in Thorin's lap, settling himself astride Thorin's hips.

“Thorin,” he said again, holding the bearded face within his hands, pulling it up until Thorin met his eyes. “I will be there, I promise. I will be beside you, and we will face it together, all right? I will not leave you alone in this.”

Thorin nodded, taking a deep breath, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Bilbo's. His arms came up to wrap around Bilbo's back, pulling him closer as he continued to take calm, steady breaths. Bilbo stroked his cheeks, letting his fingers wander across Thorin's face.

“Yes,” Thorin agreed. “Together.” He looked into Bilbo's eyes again, then kissed him, slowly, softly, just a brushing of lips and a mingling of breath. Bilbo sighed, kissing him again, the gentle press of their lips shaking something loose inside him, filling his chest with a sweet ache that stretched out into his limbs.

They kissed unhurriedly, neither pushing further, the intense rush that usually marked their kisses put aside for the moment. Bilbo was struck by a feeling of tenderness toward Thorin that he hadn't ever felt before, not really. His moments with Thorin were heated and passionate, often rushed and rarely tender.

This was different. This was more. Bilbo's stomach twisted uncomfortably, even as he sank further into Thorin's lap, wrapping arms around his shoulders, falling further into the kiss. Thorin was deepening it, his hands beginning to roam further, as the air between them heated considerably.

Thorin pulled back, resting his head on Bilbo's shoulder, his breathing slowing.

“Thank you, amralime,” he whispered, and a shiver swept over Bilbo.

“You're welcome,” he replied, leaning in and breathing in the clean scent of Thorin's hair. Bathing...that was another reason why he had helped convince Thorin to stay in Laketown. They would be clean and refreshed, full of energy when they faced Erebor at last.

“Now,” he said, leaning back and grinning widely at Thorin. “You said you had something to ask me...was it just to help you, as if you even needed to ask, as I will always do my best to help you in everything...or was it something else?”

Thorin chuckled, smiling widely in a way that Bilbo did not see often enough. He was always pleased when he was able to draw such a smile from Thorin. “No,” he said, sobering. “It is a much more pleasant question, as it happens.”

“Excellent,” Bilbo said. “Go on, then.”

Thorin flushed, another thing which Bilbo did not see often enough. It made Thorin look vulnerable, which perhaps should not have been fetching in one who was a King, but it was. Very much so. Thorin refrained from speaking, so Bilbo just raised his brows, encouraging him.

“I wonder if...if you would be willing to...switch.” Thorin looked to the side, not meeting Bilbo's eyes. “At least, this time.”

“Switch what?” Bilbo asked, not parsing what Thorin's intent was.

“I wondered if you'd like to...be on top,” he said at last, his speech full of awkward pauses. Bilbo's eyes widened, unable to hide his surprise.

“You...really?” he asked, unsure exactly of how Thorin's request made him feel. Part of him was eager. Quite eager. Another part liked very much how they'd been doing it all along. The feel of Thorin over him, inside him, the way Thorin's fierce presence and demanding kisses made him feel cared for, desired. It was exquisite, and Bilbo couldn't seem to get enough of it.

On the other hand, he wondered how it would feel to press inside Thorin, to hold that strength under his hands, to have Thorin give it up willingly. The thought was intoxicating. Bilbo had topped several times in his youth, having been with several of the young girls of his acquaintance, as well as topping more than one of the young boys he'd tumbled with. However, he'd learned quickly that he liked it best when a lover would take him and master him, drawing out his passion and owning him...at least for a time. There were few Hobbits with that type of will or drive, sexually or otherwise, so Bilbo had always felt like there was more, but he could never find it.

Not in the Shire, anyway. And then he'd grown, and the Hobbits around him began falling in love and settling down, leaving Bilbo in want of more than just a forceful lover. He'd been in want of any lover at all. Having realised rather early that he was less than inclined towards the fairer sex, he'd given it up as hopeless, and had settled into a proper bachelorhood.

And then he'd met Thorin. He'd wanted him as soon as he'd walked through Bilbo's green door, Thorin was large and imposing and strong, with a personality to match. Of course, he'd figured Bilbo out immediately, for which Bilbo would forever be grateful. Thorin had shown him what could exist between lovers, had shown him just how demanding and rewarding a forceful lover could be. He'd also shown Bilbo the world, its wonders and its dangers, and had made him part of a larger whole. He'd made friends better than any he'd had in The Shire, and learned things he never would have imagined.

Thorin Oakenshield had changed his life.

And Thorin needed this. Bilbo could sense it. He was intensely vulnerable, his fears and doubts beginning to overtake him. He had come to Bilbo for help, for succour, and if Bilbo could give him what he needed, he would. Bilbo would give him anything.

“If that's what you want,” he replied at last, his head still spinning with the thought. “I'd be glad to.”

Thorin smiled at him, kissing him sweetly again. Bilbo kissed him back, deepening it until their tongues tangled fiercely. He pushed Thorin back on the bed, laying him out as he had imagined, though he would be riding Thorin in an entirely different manner.

He made quick work of Thorin's trousers and his own, baring them both, finding that neither of them needed much encouragement in order to ready themselves. It had been far too long, and at last they were in a place where they could indulge. Neither of them wanted to wait, but Bilbo could at least keep one of his promises.

He leaned down quickly and took Thorin's straining cock into his mouth, as far down as he could handle, wetting it with his tongue until it slipped smoothly between his lips. Thorin's hand's fluttered above his head, brushing gently through his hair, but not gripping. Bilbo kept on, using every trick that he knew, everything he had discovered about Thorin's weaknesses, until the Dwarf was writhing under him, his cock filling Bilbo's mouth to bursting with the evidence of his need. Bilbo pulled back, taking in what he could and letting the rest slip down onto his hand, spreading it and wetting Thorin's cock even more. Then he licked it off, pulling Thorin inside again, even as he softened.

“Bilbo, you are exceptionally skilled at that,” Thorin said, panting, his hands lying uselessly beside him on the bed.

“I was rather rusty, until you came along,” Bilbo said with a smirk, pushing himself off the bed and ignoring the bobbing of his neglected cock as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out yet another bottle of oil, this one pilfered from the Master's dingy kitchen.

“Now,” he said, climbing up between Thorin's legs once more. “Knees up and spread.”

Thorin swallowed thickly but obeyed, and Bilbo breathed deeply to control himself, his cock twitching at the sight. He'd covered Thorin with kisses and had caressed his entire body, but this was whole new perspective. He'd never seen Thorin like this, had never touched this part of him. Usually he was too overwhelmed with the force of Thorin's desire, and too lost in his own, to consider it. But this wasn't about him, this was about Thorin. This was about waylaying his doubts and soothing his fears. He had shown a vulnerability Bilbo was certain few had seen, and he would not shirk away from such a gift.

He wetted his fingers with a generous amount of oil, and slowly, carefully, pushed a finger inside, blinking in surprise at just how tight Thorin was, although he was as relaxed as he could be, still breathing the aftermath of his climax. He loosened slowly, but before too long Bilbo was able to slip another in beside, pushing smoothly, feeling the stretch and hoping that Thorin was comfortable.

“Is this okay?” he asked, looking up and seeing Thorin's closed eyes and slack mouth.

“Yes,” Thorin said, breathing deeply through the nose and letting out a sighing breath through his mouth. A calming breath if ever Bilbo saw one. “Yes. Don't stop.”

“I won't,” Bilbo assured him, leaning in as he kept up the motion of his hand, spreading Thorin gently as he licked a stripe up Thorin's cock, feeling it fill with blood once more. He tried a third finger and found it entered easily, Thorin relaxing even further as Bilbo's fingers filled him.

“Okay, all right,” Thorin said, his eyes opening wide, boring into Bilbo with their intense gaze. “Now, please.”

Bilbo was helpless to deny him. Thorin was well stretched enough for Bilbo, his cock was fully hard once more, and Bilbo's was aching with the need for release. He crawled forward, running his hands up Thorin's legs and pushing them back, encouraging Thorin to hold them in place, allowing Bilbo more ready access. He slicked himself up, squeezing his cock gently and sliding it over Thorin's loosened hole before pushing in, gasping loudly at the intensity, the pressure.

Thorin gasped as well, letting his head fall back to the bed, and Bilbo wondered if anyone else had ever seen him like this. If Thorin had ever allowed such a privilege of any other person. He scarcely believed that Thorin would give this to him alone, when he had lived to very long, when he had known so many before.

He pulled back and pushed again, knowing that he would not last long, hoping that he could bring Thorin to pleasure before he found his own. He settled into a steady rhythm, wrapping a hand around Thorin's cock and tugging in time with his thrusts, wishing for the first time in his life that he was bigger, than he was taller. Tall enough to lean down and take Thorin's lips in a heated kiss, pouring all his desire and appreciation into it.

But the thought passed as soon as it had come, and Bilbo could feel his climax approaching, every thrust into Thorin's heat bringing it closer, until Thorin reached his, spurting streaks of white release across his belly and Bilbo's hand. His muscled clenched, tight across his chest and shoulders, and tight around Bilbo's cock, pulling Bilbo's orgasm with a sharp pleasure that shocked him. He moaned and panted, falling forward onto Thorin's chest as his energy failed him. The blissful doze of release covered him, as he rose and fell with each of Thorin's panting breaths.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, his hands coming up to card through Bilbo's sweaty hair. “That was lovely.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo replied, wincing at the sensation as he pulled back, slipping from Thorin's body. He rolled to the side, pleased with himself, a tight tenderness in his chest for Thorin. “I'm glad. It was...interesting.”

“Have you never before?”

“Oh yes, of course,” Bilbo said. “With both male and female partners, but not for a long time. I found before too long that I preferred to be on the bottom. Which I'm sure you know.”

Thorin laughed, a rich, deep sound that filled Bilbo's veins with a thrumming of pleasure. “I do indeed. You are rather bossy about getting your way, usually. Why did you agree to the switch, then?”

“Oh, I would hardly deny you anything, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo replied. “Were it in my power to give.”

“And I would deny you nothing, amralime,” Thorin said roughly, rolling so that he was over Bilbo now, sliding his arms up Bilbo's sides, hands under his shoulders so that he could rub Bilbo's scalp gently. He dropped his head, breathing in deeply, laying gentle kisses across Bilbo's neck and collarbone. Bilbo stared up in wonder, still shaken by how tender Thorin could be when the mood took him, letting his hands explore the smooth skin of Thorin's shoulders and neck, smiling a no doubt sappy smile as Thorin's head settled against him, his hot breath bathing Bilbo's neck.

He drifted off, worn out by more than the stress and struggles of the quest, his head foggy with thoughts of Thorin and long days spent close to him in this manner, skin pressed against skin in warmth and comfort. As his limbs filled with heavy slumber, he felt more than heard Thorin whisper against his skin, lips brushing Khuzdul over the sensitive skin of his neck.


	13. Dwindling Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparing to leave Laketown, Bilbo is struck by fears that he cannot allay.

Thorin woke up to the most wonderful sensation, his dream fading into blissful reality. His limbs were still heavy with slumber and yet, he could feel sweet, moist heat surrounding his cock. He moaned softly as a wet tongue swirled around the head before encompassing him again, drawing another moan and then a sigh from his lips. He breathed in deeply, stretching his sluggish muscles, reaching down with eyes still closed, a slow smile curving his lips as he touched silky hair atop a bobbing head.

“Amralime,” he breathed, pulling himself further from sleep, wanting more than anything to crack his sleep filled eyes and take in the sight he imagined. He could picture it, Bilbo's red lips wrapped around his swiftly hardening member, slick with saliva, his eyes hot with that passionate fire. That fire should consume Thorin but didn't, only filling his veins with heat and his chest with the warm ache of love.

Bilbo moaned around his cock as Thorin's hand tightened in his hair, and at last Thorin was able to open his eyes, looking down to see the scene exactly as he imagined it, only nothing his sleeping brain could come up with could ever compare to the sight of Bilbo, his eyes dark with desire, staring right into Thorin as if he saw everything Thorin was, everything he could be. Thorin's heart was well and truly lost.

Just when Thorin thought he would burst, his climax ready to tear through him with a ferocity that would leave him boneless, Bilbo, treacherous creature that he was, pulled off Thorin's cock with a soft pop, grinning at him, happily chirping, “good morning!”

Thorin grunted in dismay, but was unable to keep himself from smiling back. “Tease,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I am not!” Bilbo insisted, throwing his legs around Thorin and settling on his hips, his cock as hard as Thorin's, the bumping of them only teasing him more. “I'm following through on my promise.”

“Oh?”

“I promised to suck you until you were ready to scream, and then ride you until you came inside me. You made me wait until tomorrow, but if you'll notice,” he gestured to the pale morning light filtering through the worn drapes before continuing, “it's tomorrow.”

“It is indeed,” Thorin agreed, taking Bilbo's cock in one hand and stroking it roughly.

“Ah, don't!” Bilbo said, slapping Thorin's hand away. “It's too soon. You're not even inside me.”

“Perhaps you should rectify that,” Thorin growled, taking his lover by the hips and pulling him up, hissing in a sharp breath at the sensation of his hard, eager cock slipping under Bilbo's clearly oiled crevice. “You're ready for me,” he said, the blood in his veins surging with desire, as it always did when Bilbo was this close to him, when he proved himself to be a diligent, generous lover, always ready for anything that Thorin desired of him.

“Of course I am,” Bilbo scoffed, tilting himself over Thorin's chest, rubbing his cock on Thorin's skin, leaving smears of precome in the thick hair that covered his chest. “I know how eager you get in the morning.”

“I'm eager for you any time of the day,” Thorin corrected, lifting himself close enough to capture Bilbo's ripe lips, teasing with the tip of his tongue even while he pressed forward with his hips, seeking the clenching heat of Bilbo's body. Luckily for him, Bilbo was as eager as he was, as done with waiting, so he sat back, letting Thorin's cock catch on the slick rim of his hole before sliding home, both of them groaning with excruciating sensation. There was no more patience now, for either of them, Bilbo's strong thighs working hard to keep a languid rhythm, Thorin encouraging him along with eager thrusts, lifting Bilbo's small body with the strength of his arms and the power of his hips.

They continued for a long, sweet span of time, both content in the act, knowing that the culmination would come over them soon enough, would take them and leave them sticky and sweaty in each others' arms. Thorin was content to wait, taking in the sight of Bilbo above him with hungry eyes, wanting to keep every movement, every expression in his memory forever. He was struck with the knowledge, the certainty, that Bilbo would leave him, that every day brought them closer to that one day, the one when Bilbo would take Thorin's heart and travel back to the west. Usually Thorin pushed the thoughts of Bilbo's departure away, letting his love and hopes buoy his spirit, but there were times that he could not deny it, could not help but anticipate the bittersweet breaking of his heart, knowing that he could never bear to keep Bilbo beside him by any method, for any reason, except Bilbo's own desire.

He whispered a broken prayer to Mahal, as he often did in those moments, pleading that Bilbo would love him, that he would stay, that his fiery passion and his indomitable spirit would grace Thorin's life for all the years yet given to him.

But right now, Bilbo was warm and present in his arms, surrounding him with scalding need and boundless energy, and Thorin felt himself tipping over the edge of his orgasm, grasping Bilbo’s cock with one of his hands, drawing out Bilbo's orgasm as Bilbo drew out his, tossing them both over the cliff into heady bliss, uncaring for the mess their pleasure left in its wake.

Bilbo would always leave him breathless, lost in the depths of his all consuming love, the exposed edges of his vulnerable heart sharp in his chest, cutting him, his lifeblood welling but not spilling over, held in check until that day, the one that was fast approaching, when he would watch his heart depart his body and set out into the setting sun.

Thorin muttered another prayer, one of thanks that this was not that day, that he yet had time to hold Bilbo close, to breath him in and write these dwindling moments into his memory.

 

* * *

 

They spent the morning packing, organizing their gear and ensuring proper division of their provisions. They washed anything that needed washed and mended anything that was torn, and generally made ready for their sunrise departure. Most of the Company made sure to buy more pipeweed, and Bofur spent the last of his coin on a cask of ale, thankfully a small one, as he would be carrying it himself.

By dinner they were are ready as they could be, so the night was spent in a manner much like the previous one. The Dwarves took full advantage of the food and drink on offer, knowing that once they reached Erebor, things would be much more rationed, fully aware that the next day would bring them to the foot of the mountain.

While they made merry, Bilbo again sat with Balin, in a very comfortable chair by the fire, yet even the pleasant buzz provided by the smoke in addition to being warm and well fed could not calm his troubled mind. Thorin's fears about the gold and his desire for it were weighing heavily in Bilbo's thoughts. He had promised that he would stand by Thorin, and he would. And yet, he was filled with doubts of his own, doubts about his wisdom, about his perception of the situation. Doubts about his ability to guide Thorin through the thick of it, even doubts that he would recognize the signs that Thorin was struggling. He hoped that Thorin would remain open with him, being honest and upfront about his desires was the only sure way that Bilbo could help him. Bilbo was afraid that the madness would sneak up on him and then it would be too late.

But he would do it, he would do whatever he could to help Thorin combat the sickness.

In addition was the creeping realisation that he may be in over his head with regards to Thorin. It was becoming much more plain with every touch of Thorin's hands, every whispered word from his lips, especially when he spoke Khuzdul, something Bilbo loved, but was clueless to interpret.

There was that one word, the word Thorin had repeated regularly, in moments of tender intimacy or proud accomplishment, the word he had been repeating since their reconciliation atop the Carrock. Bilbo had often wondered what it meant, but had been apprehensive of asking about it. He told himself that his hesitation was out of respect for the jealous secrecy with which the Dwarves guarded their language, the language given only to them, the language gifted to the Khazad from their Creator. In truth, he feared to know what it was that Thorin said to him so reverently.

He was beginning to suspect that he knew what it meant, he had the gist of it anyway, it was clearly an endearment. Finally, on the heels of their last night together, Bilbo screwed up his courage and decided to ask Balin for the meaning, the better to face the future with complete knowledge.

“Balin,” he said nervously, still unsure if he should ask, despite his determination to do so, worried about what the answer would bring. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away,” Balin replied, puffing on his pipe as he regarded Bilbo seriously, seeming to know the gravity of Bilbo's question. Balin had always been very observant and insightful.

“It's about Thorin,” Bilbo continued, looking away from Balin's knowing expression, his eyes scanning the Dwarves spread across the room. Tonight, Thorin had managed to escape the Master and was on the balcony, smoking and discussing strategy with Dwalin.

“Of course it is,” Balin said. “What troubles ye, lad?”

“It's...he's been saying something to me?”

“Is that a question?”

“Well no, it's a fact, but it's a question also. The question is, what does it mean?” Bilbo said, shooting Balin an apprehensive look.

“Ahh,” Balin replied, nodding. “I think I know what you're speaking of lad, but tell me anyway, just to be certain.”

“It, uh....he calls me, um. I think it's, amralime?”

Balin nods again. “Yes, it is. We all heard him say it on the Carrock, after all.”

“Yes,” Bilbo confirmed, watching Balin's face for a clue as to what he was thinking, but he was canny, and gave nothing away.

“Was that the first time he spoke that particular word to you?” Balin asked.

“Was it...oh, yes. He's only said it a few times, but it's always when we're...close, or when he's particularly pleased.”

“Naturally,” Balin said thoughtfully. “It's very like Thorin to use it sparingly, meaningfully.”

“Balin, it's driving me crazy. What does it mean?”

“Do you not know?”

“I've...guessed. I think. But I'm not sure and I'm beginning to wonder if this entire thing hasn't been a mistake.” Bilbo looked down at his hands, picking absently at a chipped nail.

“How so?”

“I'm afraid that I'm in too deep, Balin. That he's in deeper than me, I mean, and that when I go home, it's going to hurt him.”

“It will hurt all of us,” Balin pointed out, smiling fondly at Bilbo. “We've all become very fond of you, and we'll miss having you around. You're one of us now.”

“Of course, I'll miss all of you,” Bilbo agreed, returning Balin's smile. “You've been the best friends I've ever known, every one of you. Even Dwalin.”

Balin chuckled, giving Bilbo a wink. “Aye, my brother is a hard one to warm up to, but rest assured, he's as fond of you as the rest of us are.”

“Good, because I'm rather fond of him. But, Thorin...”

“Ahh yes,” Balin said, sobering. “Thorin.”

“What does it mean, Balin?” Bilbo demanded, meeting Balin's eyes and holding his gaze.

“Amralime is the most sacred of endearments,” Balin explained, his voice soft. “It translates literally to beloved, although the implications of it are more profound even than that.”

“He's in love with me, isn't he?” Bilbo asked sadly, his stomach clenching and his chest aching. He rubbed at the pain with his hand, hoping to ease it.

“Very much so, I believe,” Balin answered, a little too honestly, if Bilbo was any judge. This was not an ideal situation.

“It was a mistake. I should never have let it get this far. I should never have let him get so close.”

“You had no idea, lad,” Balin said, laying a hand on Bilbo's and squeezing. “Thorin is a very...difficult person to get to know. He's guarded and set in his ways and stubborn as the stone. He's a Durin through and through, and I would know.”

“Yes, I imagine you've some experience there.”

“Indeed. Dwalin and I, and Oin and Gloin, are all just as susceptible to that particular failing, though our line is more removed from the direct descent. At any rate, you could not have predicted how Thorin would react to you, and keeping your distance would likely not have mattered.”

“How can you be sure? I can't help but think that I should have accepted his apology on the Carrock but kept our relationship platonic from there on out. Maybe it would have helped.”

“Oh, I don't think it would have mattered one bit,” Balin said, shaking his head. “As I said, even had you never been with Thorin at all, I fear the result would have been the same. Perhaps it would have taken him longer to recognize, but it would have ended in the same place.”

“How can you be sure?” Bilbo asked, wishing that there was something, anything he could have done differently.

“Lad, I don't think you realize how far back this goes. I am completely certain that Thorin was all but in love with you before we even left Bag End.”

Bilbo stared at him, stunned. “Wha? But...really, Balin? I don't...how?”

“Eloquent as ever,” Balin said with a chuckle, before his expression changed, conveying his sadness over the whole business. “I tried to warn him, before we met the trolls, but he was insistent that he was not troubled, that he was in no danger of falling. Of being hurt. But everything he did and said, before and after the Carrock, was but a symptom of a greater struggle. He treated you quite badly in the first part of our journey, mainly because he was struggling not to feel as he did, to pretend that he was the master of his own heart. But none of us are, in the end.”

“There's nothing I could have done?”

“There's nothing you could have done,” Balin confirmed, his face still sad and serious. “I would like to ask you a question, if you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said, nodding. “You deserve that much, at least.”

“How do you feel about Thorin? I know you do not feel as he does, but does that mean you do not care for him at all, beyond a friend and a lover? Could you not be happy staying at Erebor with him beside you?”

“That's more than one question, Balin,” Bilbo pointed out, but he had to answer. His stomach was clenching harder now, his head throbbing with the awareness that he must hurt someone he cared for, though he didn't want to.

“I do care about him. I'm very fond of him, the stubborn goat. He makes me smile. He makes me want to be a better Hobbit, makes me want to be adventurous and courageous. I want him to be happy in all he does, and I hope that I've brought him some small measure of that happiness.”

“Does that not sound like love, Bilbo? Could you not remain, and see it deepen?”

“I...perhaps, had my situation been different, perhaps. But...I'm not in love with him, Balin. Not the way he is. I do love him, and perhaps if I stayed it could become more than it is, but my words from the first night are still true. I am a Baggins of Bag End, and I have responsibilities to more than myself. I have tenants and employees and family in The Shire, and I will not forsake them.

“That's not all, though. I miss home. I miss the rolling hills and little rivers of The Shire. I miss the snug warmth of my smial and the satisfaction of finishing a particularly long translation, or reading a very good book with a lovely cup of tea. I miss smoking the first pipe of the morning on the bench in the garden,watching the world wake up. I miss the gentle, good natured company of my friends and relatives. Well, most of them, anyway. I miss my home. I need to go back.”

Balin sighed, nodding. “Fair enough, lad. Home is why we're on this quest after all, however fine our situation in the Blue Mountains had become. I understand. And I know Thorin will as well. He will ask you to stay, but only once. He will not beg or try to devise methods by which to force your hand. He would not lower himself. He'll take what you offer freely, and give you whatever you desire in return.”

“He is remarkable, really,” Bilbo said, sighing. “I wish things could be different.”

“Aye, many do,” Balin agreed. “But it is what it is. Anyway, we have yet to see the outcome. Who can tell how events will unfold in the coming days? It is too soon to know.”

“Speaking of too soon to know, although I don't want to tell you this, I think you should be aware.”

“Oh?”

“Thorin has been feeling...urges.” Bilbo's sadness deepened into despair. He felt helpless, unable to keep from hurting Thorin, and worried about his mental state as well.

“Urges? I assume you are not talking about sexual urges.”

“Eru, Balin, no!” Bilbo snapped, shaking his head. “I have those well in hand, thank you very much. I'm speaking about...the gold. The treasure.”

“Thorin is falling into the sickness? Already?” Balin looked stunned and, for the first time since Bilbo had met him, frightened. Balin was intensely practical, which Bilbo loved about him. He was rarely shocked, surprised, or fearful, unlike Bilbo, and that was something else Bilbo loved about him.

“You are sure about this?” Balin asked, his eyes guarded.

“Certain. Thorin is the one who told me, he fears he will succumb as his father and grandfather before him.”

“His father's madness was less about the gold in the end and more about that blasted ring,” Balin replied. “Nonetheless, it is a very real fear, a possibility that cannot be overlooked. All the more because a dragon has been brooding on that hoard for well over a century. Add to that the sheer enormity of the treasure, and the cards are stacked against Thorin.”

“This is not good,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “This is very not good.”

“No, it isn't. Dragon sickness can develop even without the aid of a dragon's dark magic, as was the case with Thror, but when a dragon lies on a hoard, he imbues it with his magic. A very dangerous magic.”

“Is there anything that can be done about it?”

“I'm sure that, were Gandalf here, he would be able to lift the evil that has no doubt soaked into the gold, in fact, I believe that is why he has urged Thorin not to enter the mountain without him. However, Thorin will not be willing to wait, we must open the door at just the right time, and once it is open, his patience will thin. He will likely be unable to resist the lure of the gold.”

“I'm scared, Balin,” Bilbo said, meeting his friend's eyes. Balin looked back at him, the same fear and apprehension on his face.

“As am I.”

“I have no idea what to expect,” Bilbo said, picking at his fingernail once more.

“If he succumbs, everything that he is will be subverted by a desperate need for gold. To own it, to protect it, to keep it safe. To keep it his.”

“What would he be like? I need to know Balin, I've promised I'll be there for him, that I'll help. What do I look for?”

Balin sighed. “I was quite young when Smaug came, but I remember some things, and I was told many more. He would be possessive. Paranoid. Obsessed with the gold, and utterly incapable of reason where it is concerned. He will not want to part with one piece, though he may do so, grudgingly, if it means feeding his people. When it comes to deals or promises, payments that he has agreed to, if he feels that he was manipulated in any way, that the one who makes the claim is unworthy, he will likely deny it.”

“He...he promised gold to the Master, for his support and provisions. Not that any of the people will see any of it, but still. If he falls...if Thorin succumbs, will he go back on his word?” Bilbo frowned at the thought. He had vouched for Thorin, so it wasn't just Thorin's word that will be broken.

“The Master is most unworthy. I find it unlikely that Thorin will honour his promise to the man, should the worst happen. He will see the gold as his alone, and will deny any claim, even rightful ones.”

“Would he deny the Company their due, should it come to that?”

“He may. If it goes that far. But we are aware of it, he is aware of it. With luck, we will be able to help him resist it.”

“You don't think it will get that bad, do you?”

Balin sighed, shaking his head. “No, I do not. But there's no telling how bad it might get, Bilbo. Thror was utterly single minded by the end, he would have burned with the gold had Thorin not pulled him from the mountain.”

“None of this is helping with my peace of mind, Balin,” Bilbo admitted, his heart pounding, his fear for Thorin seizing it, while the doubts he held for himself raged cold in his chest.

“I do not believe it will come to that,” Balin assured him. “Thorin is a very different Dwarf than his father or grandfather. His life has led him down different paths, and those paths have forced him to face adversity unimaginable to them. He is strong both mentally and physically. He will endure.”

“So I've heard,” Bilbo said with a smirk. He's heard plenty of times about how Thorin endured.

“But that is not the only reason I believe he will not fall or, if he does, that he will defeat it.” Balin spoke with a certainty that Bilbo could not feel.

“And what reason is that?”

“His heart is already full. His love for you will be a protection to him, and if need be, it will be the strength needed to overcome it.”

“I'm not sure how I feel about that,” Bilbo said honestly.

“I know that you dread hurting him. And yet it may be that the love that will hurt him will save him in the end.” Balin spoke truthfully, from his heart, and Bilbo knew full well how wise and perceptive he was.

“I hope so,” Bilbo said, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself. “Even if it causes him pain, I hope so.”

“As do I.” Their eyes met again, and Bilbo knew that Balin understood him. That they understood each other.

“I will be beside him through it all,” Bilbo said fiercely. “I'll do everything in my power to help him through this.”

“And that is yet another mark in his favour,” Balin added, smiling brightly at Bilbo. “For you are an exceptional friend, Bilbo Baggins. As much as you may feel remorse for him, for the depth of his feelings for you, however it will hurt you to hurt him, I truly believe that, despite how it will play out, I truly believe that You are the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied, blushing at the praise. “Despite it all, how I feel about him, or rather, how I don't...he's the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

Silence fell between them. With all the words they had spoken, they both had a great deal to think about. It wasn't long before Thorin appeared through the balcony doors, tucking his pipe away, his eyes scanning the room. He made a beeline for the fireplace, his eyes blazing bright as the flames inside when they met Bilbo's gaze.

Bilbo smiled back at him, his stomach clenching anew. It would be so much simpler if only he loved Thorin the way that Thorin loved him.

When the Dwarf in question reached them, he nodded a greeting to Balin and stretched out a hand to Bilbo, which he took gladly. Thorin used it to pull Bilbo up, holding him closer than was perhaps appropriate in mixed company, but Thorin didn't seem to care.

“Goodnight, Balin,” Bilbo called over his shoulder as Thorin led him away, one hand moving dangerously low down Bilbo's back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for what?” Thorin asked, his nose buried in Bilbo's hair, his closeness and intensity setting Bilbo’s blood aflame.

“He's a good friend,” Bilbo said, keeping his answer vague, hoping that Thorin would not push it further. Fortunately, Thorin did not seem inclined to pursue anything but Bilbo, right into the bedroom.

“He is indeed,” Thorin said, tugging Bilbo up the stairs and through their door.


	14. Slowly the Days Turned Sour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebor, at last. Is it just the beginning, or the beginning of the end?

Bilbo lay in sated bliss, feeling as if he was floating above the bed. Thorin had certainly outdone himself this time, and that was saying something. Perhaps he was spurred on by the fact that they'd be on the road again soon, and that, if they did not meet their deaths in dragon fire, that the mountain would hardy be more hospitable than the cold, hard ground.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he said, flailing through the air with one hand until he hit his lover's chest, which was rising and falling as quickly as his own.

“You inspire me,” Thorin answered simply, and Bilbo chuckled.

“I inspire you to deeper levels of depravity?” Bilbo asked. “That's hardly an endorsement.”

“Good,” Thorin said, rolling over and draping an arm and leg over Bilbo's boneless body, his head resting on Bilbo's shoulder. He practically covered Bilbo's whole body from this position. “I'm not willing to endorse you to anyone else. In this respect, at least.”

“Hmmm.” Bilbo felt as if he could fall asleep right there, as messy as they were. Thorin's body was hot and firm against his, and Bilbo's limbs were still slack with release. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?” he asked, without realising he was going to say anything.

“Yes, and no,” Thorin murmured against his neck. “There are many things weighing on my mind, but to see Erebor again. To feel the stone and smell the air...it fills my hear with joyful anticipation.”

He pulled back to look at Bilbo, his eyes shining with excitement. “Oh Bilbo, I can't wait for you to see it. The halls are vast, carved from the most beautiful stone you'll ever see, green stone that glows as if lit from within, marbled with streaks of gold and crimson. It was always warm to the touch, thrumming with the song of the earth. There were lamps, twinkling with golden light, filling the pathways and rooms with a vibrant glow that you have to see to believe. One day, you'll see it. When the dragon is gone and we restore her glory, Erebor will once again thrive with life.”

“It sounds amazing,” Bilbo said, idly playing with the bead clasping one of Thorin's thick, silky braids.

“I will show you all the wonders it has to offer, if Mahal sees fit to grace me with the opportunity.”

Bilbo smiled at him, taking immense pleasure in Thorin's pride, his anticipation, his determination. Thorin was a Dwarf of deep passions, however he concealed them from the world.

“You're worried,” Bilbo stated. It was not a question. Bilbo had learned to read Thorin like a book. Others may have missed it, but Bilbo could see that under the almost childish enthusiasm Thorin's muscles were tense, even at rest, tight across his chest and shoulders. His face was strained with stress, to a knowing gaze it was visible, even beneath the brightness of his eyes.

The brightness faded, and Bilbo almost wished he had said nothing. “Is it the dragon?” he asked. “Finding the hidden door?”

Thorin shook his head, his gaze sobering. “No, it's Kili,” he admitted at last, laying his head on Bilbo's chest once more.

“I'm worried about him, too,” Bilbo said, running his fingers through Thorin's hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I think he's getting worse.”

“He certainly is,” Thorin agreed, wrapping his limbs tighter around Bilbo. “It's getting harder for him to move, I've seen it in every step he's taken during the last few days. I have seen the pain in his face, the tension.”

“What can we do? Oin isn't having any luck.”

“No, he isn't. The infection in the wound is persistent. Kili needs rest and medicine to overcome it, not exertion and stress and danger. It's becoming plain that he cannot come with us. I fear for his safety, and the strain of travelling with take its toll as well. And then there's the dragon. The dangers are many, and he is not at his best.”

“You're worried he's not up to it,” Bilbo said.

“I know he isn't,” Thorin replied, pulling back, leaning his head on one hand, propped up on his elbow. Bilbo ran his fingers down Thorin's neck, hating how his face was stark with worry. “But the thought of leaving him behind...I don't know how he'll take it. I want him there, Bilbo. He is an heir to the throne of Erebor, he should have a part in our victory.”

“He has already, Thorin. He's been invaluable. As has Fili,” Bilbo pointed out, filled with a sense of foreboding at Thorin's certainty. Anything could happen, and Bilbo was apprehensive to say the least. “And you must realise that if Kili stays, it is likely that Fili will stay with him.”

“I am sure he will. He will not be able to leave his brother's side,” Thorin said, sorrow in his eyes. “But Kili must stay. I will not risk him unnecessarily.”

“He is not going to be happy.”

“I think that is a grave understatement.” Thorin looked down at him, sadly resigned to leaving Kili in Laketown, along with Oin and, most likely, Fili.

“You have done everything you could for him. For both of them,” Bilbo said. “For all of us. But you are not infallible, Thorin Oakenshield.” Bilbo traced the shape of Thorin's eyebrows, his fingers drifting across his sharp cheekbones, sifting through the soft beard that covered his strong jaw.

“I'm so grateful that you're here, amralime,” Thorin said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. Now that Bilbo was aware of exactly what the word meant, he could feel the weight of Thorin's love pressing on him. He smiled at Thorin, his heart aching, but warmth pushed away the pangs when Thorin returned his smile, his eyes brightening once more. He leaned down and kissed Bilbo tenderly, his lips soft, his beard scratching lightly across Bilbo's skin. He'd thought he was done for the night, but as always, Thorin found a way to draw out his desire and set it aflame.

They would not be getting much sleep, this night.

 

* * *

 

The morning was cold and dingy when the Company set out, the sun barely visible as it rose over Laketown. However, despite the early hour and the cold, there were crowds of people lining the path from the Master's house to the pier where their boat awaited, and there were more people lining the canal that would take them out of town.

Thorin had awoken in his One's arms, Bilbo snuffling sleepily in his hair, his arms around Thorin's neck, his legs curled up against his belly. Sometimes it seemed as if Bilbo tried to climb inside him while they slept, and Thorin was well aware of the aptness of the metaphor. Bilbo had climbed inside him, totally and completely, and he had done it on the first night they had met. Everything that had followed was a result of that, and despite the coming of that day, the one Thorin was dreading, he would not change a thing. Loving Bilbo was the best thing he had ever done.

And now, he was taking another step closer to his mountain, his home, and Bilbo was by his side. Looking ridiculous in the oversized hat the Master had forced on him, wearing a blue jacket he'd gotten at Bard's over his own tattered clothing. Thorin didn't care how he looked, Bilbo could be tied up in a potato sack and Thorin would love him.

And he had, now that he thought of it. But there were pressing matters to attend to, and there was still the issue of Kili. When Bilbo pointed out that Bofur was missing, Thorin cursed under his breath. They were losing Dwarves left and right, and the Company was not large to begin with. But they did not have time to find him, they were on a schedule. If they were to find the Hidden Door in time, they needed to leave. Now.

But first, Thorin had to do one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He waited by the boat, and stopped Kili with a hand on his chest. He hated doing this now, but if he had talked to Kili before, he would have more time to argue, more time to change Thorin's mind, and he would not risk it. He would not risk Kili's life.

“Not you,” he said, watching the disbelief cloud Kili's face. “We must travel with speed, you will slow us down.” Kili stood, shocked, and then brushed Thorin's words aside with a laugh, as if he'd been joking. If only it were that simple.

“What are you talking about? I’m coming with you.” Thorin's heart clenched at the hope in Kili's eyes.

“No. I will not risk your life for the sake of this quest.”

“I’m going to be there when that door is opened, when we first look upon the halls of our fathers, Thorin.” Kili said, his determination evident in every word. It cut Thorin to the bone, he knew that Kili was right, that it should be so, and yet, it could not be.

“Kili, stay here. Rest. Join us when you’re healed.” He squeezed Kili's shoulder, smiling sadly. He did not want to leave his nephew behind, but it was the only way. He hated the look on Kili's face, the betrayal, but there was nothing to be done. It was time to leave.

“I’ll stay with the lad. My duty lies with the wounded,” Oin said, as he got out of the boat. Thorin slapped him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Oin.” he said, not meeting Kili's eyes, turning away to check the progress as the Company loaded up their gear. Unfortunately, that brought his eyes right to Fili, who was looking as betrayed as his brother.

“Uncle,” he said, pleadingly. “We grew up on tales of the mountain. Tales you told us. You can’t take that away from him!”

“Fili,” Thorin said quietly, but Fili continued.

“I will carry him, if I must!” Fili exclaimed, and Thorin knew that he would, if given the chance.

He shook his head. “One day you will be king, and you will understand. I cannot risk the fate of my kin for the sake of this quest. He is injured, dangerously so. He is not strong enough to make the trip, and I fear for him if we must face the dragon.”

Fili stared at him in disbelief, then his eyes flicked to Kili, who was struggling against Oin's attempts to examine him. He looked back at Thorin, his eyes filled with steely determination. He climbed out of the boat, heading toward his brother. Thorin reached out a hand to stop him, knowing that his plea would not be successful, but needing to make the attempt nonetheless.

“Fili, don’t be a fool. You belong with the Company,” he said, but as predicted, Fili was not moved.

“I belong with my brother,” he said, simply, and then turned his back on Thorin, his loyalty for his brother, as it always had been. Thorin could not blame him, not really. He would have done anything for Frerin, would have gone to any lengths to protect him. In the end it had not been enough, and Frerin had fallen at Azanulbizar. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the memory of his little brother, covered in blood, his eyes blank and staring through Thorin in death. The thought of his sister sons meeting such a fate filled his veins with ice, and he prayed that Fili would never have to experience that pain, that loss. It was not something that was easy to live with.

Thorin looked back to the boat, searching out Bilbo's eyes, and finding them gazing in his direction. He climbed down into the boat, moving to the front, letting out the breath he had been holding in one long exhale, sucking in another with surprise when a small hand slipped into his, squeezing firmly. He smiled down at Bilbo, but he knew that the smile did not meet his eyes.

“You could have done that better,” Bilbo commented, but the softness of his voice was at odds with the censure of his words. Thorin sighed.

“No,” he said, looking back at the lake. “You could have. Not I.”

He took Bilbo's silence as agreement, then squeezed his hand once and let go, turning to face the Company. They were ready to go, and with a stuttered fanfare and the Master's simpering words, they pushed off from the dock.

They were on their way.

 

* * *

 

The journey was longer than Bilbo expected. The road from Laketown to Dale had long since fallen into disuse, it was rough and uneven, completely overgrown in parts. The Company struggled forward, determined to reach the Overlook by nightfall, and find a place to camp there. Dale was perhaps an hour's walk from the gates of Erebor, Bilbo had learned, and Thorin wanted an early start the next morning. They would need the day to find the Hidden Door.

Brief stops for food and rest were not enough, in Bilbo's opinion, so when they finally made camp just below the Overlook, in the lee of a rock that blocked most of the wind, he dropped his pack and collapsed, needing to be still for a few moments before facing the tasks at hand. Soon, he was searching for firewood, as he had many times before, the process of setting up camp had become a routine for him, one which they had not employed for longer than he'd realized. Since before they entered Mirkwood.

Unlike those nights, so very, very many nights, this one was tinged with a sharp anticipation. The mountain was tall and dark over them, beckoning them closer. They did their best to ignore it, falling into their usual tasks, setting up bedrolls while Bombur distributed food. That was another thing that Bilbo was grateful for, actually having food.

Bilbo finished his meal, dried fish reconstituted in broth...it wasn't the best they'd had, but Bombur had a way with it that bested the Master's cook by far. That was when he noticed that Thorin had not eaten with them. Bilbo looked around, wondering where he could have gotten to, and how he hadn't noticed. He turned and saw him then, sitting still as a boulder, no doubt staring over the ruins of Dale at the broken gates of Erebor.

Bilbo dished up a bowl of soup and carried it up the hill, sitting carefully beside Thorin before handing him the bowl, which Thorin took.

“Thank you,” he said, and began eating it mechanically, his eyes never leaving the not so far off gates of the mountain. Bilbo sat silently, leaning against him, know how much Thorin appreciated a physical reminder of Bilbo's presence. Thorin was incredibly tactile, always reaching out for Bilbo, brushing a hand over his shoulder, along his back, through his hair. Bilbo had no idea how much he'd love it until it started happening.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked, running a hand up Thorin's back and beneath his hair, rubbing firmly at the knots of tension in his neck.

“I could be better,” Thorin admitted, placing the mostly empty bowl on the ground beside him.

“I can tell,” Bilbo said quietly.

“You can read me better than many who have known me longer that you've been alive,” Thorin said with a smile, looking down at him warmly. “I don't know how you do it.”

“Well, I have the advantage of seeing you in ways they haven't.”

“Indeed you have,” Thorin agreed. His gaze was drawn back to the mountain, and all humour left Bilbo, replaced by an icy dread. Thorin's hands were twitching in his lap, his face clouded. Bilbo hated it, and he knew only one way to distract him. It had worked for him before.

He looked behind them at the camp and found that most of the Company seemed engaged with each other or their bedrolls, so Bilbo decided to go ahead. They were quite aware of Bilbo and Thorin's relationship, of course, and Bilbo was most definitely not one for exhibition or drawing attention to himself, but in this case, he felt the risk of witnesses was worth the potential reward.

He sat up, turning and straddling Thorin's lap, pressing their bodies together and draping his arms over Thorin's shoulders. He played absently with Thorin's hair, meeting his eyes to ensure that he had Thorin's attention.

“I'm here,” he whispered, pleased that Thorin had turned his focus away form the mountain.

“I'm so very thankful for that,” Thorin told him, his arms coming up to wrap around Bilbo, holding him close as he laid his head on Bilbo's shoulder. “I believe I will need you greatly before the end,” he said gravely, clutching even tighter. Bilbo could feel his rib cage compressing, and the apprehension he was feeling was growing. He could only hope that Balin was correct in his assessment, that he would be able to help Thorin overcome the gold sickness.

Thorin pulled back and kissed him, the slow, gentle kisses that always put a coil of heat in Bilbo's chest. He ignored it, as always, and enjoyed Thorin's attentions. His kisses were languid, both of them aware that it wasn't going to go any further, which made it all the sweeter.

Finally Bilbo drew back, letting his head press against Thorin's letting himself hold on to this moment, the calm before the storm.

“Come to bed,” he said at last, smiling softly at Thorin, and thankfully, Thorin agreed. He kissed Bilbo one last time, letting go only reluctantly. Bilbo clambered off his lap and picked up the bowl, letting Thorin take his hand and lead them back to camp. Tomorrow was a very big day, and it was coming all too quickly.

 

* * *

 

Finding the hidden door was easier said than done. Bilbo had greatly underestimated how vast an area would need to be searched, but suddenly, halfway through the afternoon, there it was. It was a difficult climb for Bilbo, being shorter than the Dwarves and possessing much less upper body strength. Then they were at the top and, after a short detour, the door was opened.

This. This is what Bilbo was there for. Once they'd all filed inside, Balin explained about the Arkenstone, sending a chill down Bilbo's spine. There was that cold lump of dread in Bilbo's stomach, the same one that had been growing for days, even since Thorin had confessed his struggles, and it only increased as Balin led him away from the others, down the corridor. He looked back, hoping to encourage Thorin and gain encouragement from him, but when his gaze caught Thorin, he went cold.

There was no warmth in his face. He stared past Bilbo at the gold tinted light toward the end of the corridor, his eyes dark and hard.

Bilbo turned and followed Balin, terrified at what was to come.

 

* * *

 

Terrified was a good word for how Bilbo was feeling. He had been in a state of terror since he had seen Thorin's harsh expression. He had feared for the worst, and it seemed that the worst had come to pass.

He slumped against the wall outside the treasure halls, hidden for the moment from Thorin's brutal possessiveness. He could still feel the cold disdain in Thorin's eyes when he had found Bilbo after his confrontation with Smaug. He had demanded the Arkenstone, and he did not seem to hear Bilbo when he told him no, he hadn't found it, or even when he had said that the dragon was coming. For one horrifying moment, Bilbo had thought that Thorin was going to raise his sword. The tension had been unbearable.

In that moment, Thorin bore no resemblance to the Dwarf who had kissed him so sweetly, only a few hours before.

'So that is what gold sickness does to a person,' Bilbo thought, his heart breaking in side his chest, the pieces leaving behind a constant ache. 'He didn't even seem to know me.' The worst part was that Bilbo had lied.

The Arkenstone was in his pocket.

The same stone that the Company was currently searching for. The eight of them had spent the last few days searching fruitlessly through the piles of treasure. But the piles were enormous, so Bilbo had time yet. Time to decide to do with the stone. It was clear that Thorin was not in a proper state of mind, but would having the stone help or would it make things worse?

Yet that was not the only thing that was pressing on Bilbo's mind. They had not killed Smaug, although he was gone. They had only succeeded in angering him before sending him off to Laketown. They had witnessed his demise, but not before he had lit half the town on fire. Bilbo was sure it was Bard who had brought down the beast, but beyond that, he knew nothing.

The fate of the people of the town was weighing heavy on his mind and heart. Bard and his children were at the top of that list, but even higher was the fate of the Dwarves left behind. Kili's fate had been uncertain, his injury dangerously infected and now, Bilbo was increasingly worried for all of them. But there was nothing he could do for them now. Now, his first priority was Thorin.

A completely different Thorin than the one he had come to know. He was utterly taken with the gold, and was driven to find the Arkenstone. He had also become jealously possessive of Bilbo, something that he had not been expecting. He guarded Bilbo's time and words fervently, keeping him separate from the others, rarely letting him out of his sight. It was stifling. Bilbo had long been feeling the weight of Thorin's regard, but this was different. Before, Thorin was willing to take only what Bilbo offered, regardless of his own desire.

Now, Thorin's behaviour left Bilbo feeling less like someone Thorin loved, and more liked something he owned. A piece of treasure to be cherished, not a person to be valued. When he looked at Bilbo now, there was no warmth in him. There was only a feverish desire, cold and distant. He didn't speak to Bilbo anymore, even though Bilbo had tried to talk some sense into him. He simply did not hear it.

Bilbo was sick with worry and filled with fear for Thorin's mental state. How was he to snap out of it, when the gold was all around them? It was truly an obscene amount of treasure, far more than Bilbo could even have imagined, having little use for riches of any sort. He had a comfortable living in the Shire, more comfortable than many, but it was more than sufficient for his needs, and he had never desired anything further.

This...this was incredible. Gaudy, excessive, ludicrous...Bilbo could not think of a word to properly describe it. No wonder it had called a dragon forth.

“What is that?” Thorin's voice came from nowhere, shocking Bilbo so that he jumped, his body shaking with the fear of discovery. “In your hand,” Thorin said as he strode up to Bilbo, who had jumped to his feet in an instant. He hadn't even realised he'd been toying with it, running the solid shape across his palm

“It's nothing,” he said carefully, his fist closing over the token within, unwilling to share it with Thorin, wanting to keep one piece of beauty untouched by Thorin's madness.

“Show me,” Thorin commanded, and Bilbo was helpless to deny him. He held out his hand, uncurling his fist and revealing the greatest of his material treasures. The acorn was small but perfect, giving all indications of bearing a healthy seed, that Bilbo had hoped would flourish in his garden one day. He knew exactly where he was going to plant it, and looked forward to the day that it was tall and strong, its branches shading the bench that Bilbo had planned to put under it.

“I picked it up in Beorn’s garden,” he said simply, watching Thorin carefully.

“You’ve carried it all this way,” Thorin replied, stunned. His face had softened, though, along with his voice and Bilbo's chest pounded, hope burning wildly in his heart.

“I’m gonna plant it in my garden, in Bag End.” He scarcely dared to believe that such a small thing could pull Thorin from the madness, but in front of him was the proof that it was possible. The proof that the Dwarf Bilbo knew still existed.

Thorin's anger faded, a smile, the most beautiful smile Bilbo had ever seen, lit his face, his eyes warm for the first time since they'd opened the hidden door.

“That’s a poor prize to take back to the Shire,” he remarked, his voice and eyes almost pleading with Bilbo, and if it had been any other moment, Bilbo would have wondered if this was Thorin's way of asking him to stay.

Bilbo smiled back, hope bursting into flame within him. His Thorin was still there, he knew it.

“One day it'll grow,” he said. “And every time I look at it, I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened, the good, the bad. And how lucky I am that I made it home.” He smiled again, heartened that Thorin smiled back, looking so like his former self, that Bilbo could feel the tears of joy burning behind his eyes.

“Thorin, I...” he began, unsure of what he was planning to say. Instead, he decided to let his actions speak, taking a step forward and reaching up to kiss Thorin, expressing everything he felt and hoping it would make a difference. Thorin had barely touched him since they'd arrived, not gently at any rate. His hands on Bilbo had been heavy, a mark of ownership, and not the kind that Bilbo appreciated at all, mostly to drive home to the others that Bilbo was his and was not to be trifled with. As if they could forget, as if they would attempt anything. But Thorin had forgotten that, too caught up in the gold and the search for the Arkenstone, and perhaps if he could ground Thorin to him again, he could touch his heart. His real heart.

His lips slid against Thorin's, oddly surprised to find that he tasted just as Bilbo remembered, surprised because everything had changed so very much. To his delight, Thorin kissed back, his touch tender for the first time since they'd entered the mountain. Bilbo pressed closer, letting his hands tangle in Thorin's hair, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he could reach him like this.

That was when Dwalin found them, his voice like a bucket of cold water poured over them, killing not only their burgeoning desire, but any trace of Thorin. The dragon mad King was before him once more, and Bilbo drew back, needing to remove himself from his cold arms.

“Thorin, survivors...from Laketown. They are streaming into Dale. There’s hundreds of them.”

Bilbo gasped in pleasure, hoping beyond hope that Fili and Kili and the others were among the survivors. But Thorin seemed to be thinking very differently, his face a mask once more, as he called them all to the gate. Bilbo remembered Balin's words about denying the claims of those he felt unworthy, and the sick, clenching pain in Bilbo's stomach returned.

 

* * *

 

Thorin commanded a wall rebuilt at the gates, determined that no one would rob him of his gold, with no word spoken about his nephews. Fortune was with them, however, and the four left behind had streamed into the mountain just as the rest began the work of building the wall. Bilbo was so relieved to seem them all well, to see Kili hale and pink once more, no longer grey and fading, that he almost cried. Bofur had tried to hug him, and while Bilbo would like nothing more than the reassurance of his friend's health, he dodged it swiftly and put distance between them, giving Bofur a swift shake of the head and a look of fear, glancing surreptitiously towards Thorin who was, thankfully, preoccupied with welcoming his nephews to his mountain.

After that, they worked until sunrise, the Dwarves exhibiting their great strength and endurance, lifting great chunks of stone as if they were bricks, while Bilbo was all but useless, completely unsuited to the task.

“You look worn out, my Hobbit,” Thorin said, approaching where Bilbo was slumped, drinking the last clear fluid from his waterskin. That was another thing bothering Bilbo. Thorin didn't use his name anymore. Nor did he whisper loving words in Khuzdul. As much as it had made him tense and uncomfortable before, Bilbo would have given almost anything to hear Thorin call him amralime, just once.

Instead, he had fallen to possessive, impersonal greetings, words that twisted Bilbo's stomach into knots.

“I am,” Bilbo replied, looking up at Thorin in dismay. “I am not well suited to this kind of heavy labour. I fear I am no help at all in this task.”

“Perhaps not,” Thorin agreed. “Perhaps you should rest and recover your strength.”

“Oh, I'm too keyed up for that. I was thinking, perhaps there is a less back breaking way I could assist you?” he suggested, continuing when Thorin nodded thoughtfully. “I thought I could keep searching for the Arkenstone. I know the chances of my finding it in such a vast hoard are all but non existent, but there's a better chance of that than me being suddenly able to lift a block of stone.” He finished with a chuckle, hoping to throw Thorin off his true reasoning by distracting him.

If Thorin had noticed anything amiss, he did not show it. “Indeed,” he said, nodding his head again. “You are correct as ever, my golden one. It is a task I will gladly allow you. For I trust you as if you were my very soul, and I know you will not fail me in this.”

“I will do my very best, Thorin,” Bilbo replied, swallowing yet another lump of dread and cold fear. It was becoming a very bad habit, one that Bilbo would be ecstatic to give up. Thorin squeezed his shoulder, smiling at Bilbo with no real emotion, and turned, heading back toward the half built wall where the others were still toiling.

Bilbo turned as well, casting one last glance at Thorin's retreating back, his mind spinning with speculation. He knew that the men of Laketown would come the next day expecting a share of the gold, a share they desperately needed and certainly deserved, and he knew that, with Thorin as he was now, the result would not be good.

Perhaps it was time to 'find' the Arkenstone. For real.


	15. From One Moment to the Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili had been utterly clueless. He'd had no idea it could happen like that, so quickly, without warning. Suddenly, his life had taken on a new purpose, one unlooked for but most welcome.

Fili stood outside on the small balcony attached to the main room of Bard's house. The room where Kili had been laid out in near death only a few short hours ago. The thought chilled him, despite the certainty he now had that his brother would live. Seeing him like that, the black veins spreading from the arrow wound in his leg, travelling to his heart in mere hours. Fili remembered the glassy, clouded look of his eyes as the poison had begun to choke the life out of him, and the memory frightened him still.

He sighed, shaking himself out of the past, however recent, and lit his pipe. Finding pipeweed in Laketown had been a blessing. Bilbo finding their clothing and weapons even more so, as Fili's pipe had still been where he'd left it, in a slot sewn into the lining of his coat. The Elf may have found all of his knives, but he hadn't found Fili's pipe.

He was glad. It had been his father's pipe, one of the last things he had to remember him by, and he would have hated to lose it. It was one of the few things he remembered, sitting on his father's lap, cocooned in strong arms that smelled of the forges, all metal and scorched wood and coal, and pipeweed. His father would light his pipe and Fili would climb into his lap, sitting in silence for perhaps the first moment all day, to just breathe in the smell of his father's presence.

It was a sacred memory to Fili, something that was just for him. As much as it saddened him to know that Kili had been too young to have any memories of their father, he was jealous of his own memory. He only had the one, really.

“Fili?” he heard, turning at the soft voice. As he suspected, Sigrid stood, half out the door and half in, watching him curiously. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders as she closed the door and joined him by the rail.

“Is Kili alright?” he asked, wondering what had brought her out on this cold night.

“Yes, he's fine, he's still sleeping,” she replied, giving him a soft smile. “Tauriel is with him.”

“Of course she is,” Fili scoffed, shaking his head at his little brother's lightning fast love affair. And it was love, Fili could see that, at least on Kili's part. Tauriel he was less certain about, despite the fact that she'd come after them and promptly saved Kili's life. Again.

“You do not approve?” Sigrid asked, hesitant and yet determined. Fili liked that about her. She didn't seem sure of anything that had happened during the last few days, but she met each challenge with a quiet determination that he admired. She reminded him of his mother.

“Not as such,” he replied, trying to get his head together before composing his answer. “It's not that she's an Elf, really, or even that she's a Mirkwood Elf. It's just happened so fast.”

“Ah,” Sigrid said, seemingly relieved.

“They only met a few days ago, when she and her guard captured us, threw us in prison and then all but threw us to the Orcs.”

“It can happen like that, sometimes.” she said thoughtfully. She frowned and looked at him curiously. “But, the Elves didn't let you go?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We escaped in barrels, that's how we met your father.”

“Oh, yes. I wasn't sure how it all came together. Da is hardly talkative these days.”

Fili didn't know how to answer that, so he grunted in response, turning his attention back to his pipe. It had gone out, of course, so he lit it again, drawing a deep, soothing mouthful of smoke and holding it in his lungs before letting it go, sighing as the calming effect of it swept through him. It wasn't the best he'd ever had, but it would do.

“Do all Dwarves smoke?” Sigrid asked, watching him curiously.

“Not all, but most,” he replied. “It's soothing, especially when you have good pipeweed. This isn't that bad, actually. And it's been while since I've had any.” He looked up at her, grateful for the distraction, and for the excuse to talk. He wasn't chatty and hyper in the manner of Kili, but he liked to talk things out when he was confused or frustrated. Perhaps Sigrid was the same.

“Does your Da not smoke a pipe?”

“No,” she said, dropping her eyes as she picked at a loose sliver on the rail with one finger. “He never had a taste for it, and we couldn't afford it anyway, so I suppose it's a blessing.”

“There were many times growing up that we couldn't afford it, either,” he said, commiserating. “Not so much now, we've been doing alright, now that Kili and I are old enough to earn, but I remember Thorin and Mum being rather grumpy about the lack at times. That was before Kili and I were old enough to smoke, anyway.”

“You grew up poor?” she asked, surprised. “But I thought your Uncle is the King.”

“Oh, he is,” Fili confirmed. “King in Exile, since my grandfather was lost. But there is little to earn within the Blue Mountains, few minerals to mine and only so much work to go around. Even for a Prince of Erebor.”

“Oh, I hadn't realised. I knew you had no supplies when you arrived, but I thought it was simply lost along the way.”

“You're not wrong. We had plenty of supplies when we started the journey, but the obstacles have taken their toll.” She nodded in understanding and stood silently, staring across the lake in the direction of the mountain.

“Would you like to try?” he asked suddenly, holding out his pipe, not even sure why he'd asked, as she hadn't shown a particular interest.

“Oh, umm...sure,” she said shyly. He moved a bit closer and handed it to her, adjusting her fingers in a comfortable grip.

“Now, take a pull, but not too much, just a little to start, and inhale it. Sometimes it's a bit rough, but once you get it, it's lovely and smooth.”

She brought the pipe up to her lips and did as instructed, holding the smoke for a moment before coughing roughly, shaking her head to clear the tears in her eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked with a chuckle, remembering the first time he'd had a smoke. He'd taken a large mouthful the first time and had turned beet red with the force of his coughing. Thorin and Dwalin had almost pissed themselves laughing, and it had put him off for another few months, until his Mum had brought him his father's old pipe and had instructed him more thoroughly.

“Yes,” she croaked, still choking a bit as she cleared her lungs. He reached out to take the pipe, but she shook her head and, after a few deep breaths, took another pull. This one she handled much better, holding the smoke before letting it out with a breathy sigh that made his chest tighten and his pulse race.

“That was better,” he said, accepting the pipe as she handed it back, unable to keep from smiling proudly at her persistence.

“Da always says that anything worth trying is worth failing, at least once.”

“He's a smart one, your Da,” Fili said, enjoying her blush at the compliment.

“It's nice,” she said, looking out at the lake again. “Once you're not choking on it.”

Fili laughed, looking down at the pipe in his hands, knowing that from now on, this memory would follow the one of his father. He looked up at her again, taking in the delicate features of her face and the curly wisps of hair that escaped her bun. He'd noticed before, how lovely she was, but standing in such relative intimacy and camaraderie, it struck him even more.

He looked away, certain his own cheeks would be flushed now, to match hers.

“Earlier, you mentioned that you were old enough to work now? How old are you, if you don't mind my asking. You don't look very old...not all that much older than me, really.” She glanced sideways at him again, a smile curving her lips. “Despite the beard.”

He chuckled, taping the pipe out on the rail and sliding it back into his coat.

“I fear the answer may shock you,” he replied, turning and leaning his side against the rail so he could better face her, pleased when she did the same. The night was cold, but he did not want it to end here. Not yet.

“Da says I'm not old enough to get a job yet, though I take care of the house, as well as Bain and Tilda, and do all the cooking and mending. I've taken on a few mending jobs for others, so that helps bring in some income.”

“I know the feeling. I was eager to start work and earn some gold for us, especially with Kili growing like crazy, but I had to finish my apprenticeship first.”

“What do you do?” Sigrid asked, her lips quirking in a half smile. “When you're not climbing through people's toilets and then saving them from Orcs, that is.”

He laughed, smiling broadly at her cheek. “Hey, that was some of my best work,” he shot back, smiling wider when she laughed.

“Seriously though, I'm a blacksmith. Like Thorin. And...my father, when he was alive.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, her smile taking on a sadness that he understood well.

“It's all right, I hardly remember him. But following his boots into his chosen craft, and finding that I'm well suited to it, that made me proud to be his son.”

“You're lucky, then,” she said, and he nodded.

“That I am. And now that Kili is safe, perhaps luckier still. If we can take back the mountain, then I'll be able to put my craft into action. There will be plenty of smith work repairing Erebor.”

“There will be a call for a smith here, too, once it's all said and done. There always is.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, appreciating the insight. “Perhaps I could help with that...if all goes well.”

She smiled at him again, and he felt his heart jump and then beat faster, just enough to catch his breath as their eyes held. She really was very lovely. Fili wondered then, if the Durin line had fallen under some curse. He began to suspect that he would follow his uncle and his brother, in loving someone who wasn't a Dwarf. He looked out toward the lake and pushed the thought away. It was far too soon to tell.

“Anyway, you've avoided the question rather neatly, but I'm not so easily distracted,” she said, and Fili looked back at her, her lovely face gazing at him mischievously.

“What question?”

“How old are you?” she asked again, and this time, he answered.

“I'm still quite young, you're right,” he replied. “Barely an adult by our standards. I'm only just eighty-two.”

“Eighty-two!” she repeated, shock written across her face. “But...that's almost twice my Da's age!”

“I told you the answer might shock you,” he said simply, enjoying her astonishment. “I understand that humans age faster than Dwarves...and live shorter lives. I may live to be three hundred, or longer, so eighty-two isn't very old at all.”

“Still, that's...you're old enough to be my grandfather!”

“If I were human, I could be,” he said, his stomach turning at the thought that she would be put off by his age. It had never bothered him before, he had worked hard for decades at his craft and had seen many places and people in his life and he was but a youngling to his people. But to a human, he must seem ancient, on the cusp of death.

“But you're not, of course,” she said, still staring at him with amazement.

“No, indeed. You were right, in your estimation that I am not much older than you...not in years, but in relation to our lifespans. You look like a woman full grown, but your eyes are young and you are not married, still living with your father. I would assume that you are on the cusp of adulthood as well as I, although perhaps the opposite side of it?”

“You are correct in that,” she said, still shaking her head. “I am seventeen. I will be considered a woman on my next birthday. Which is not terribly soon, but soon enough.”

“Seventeen!” Now it was Fili's turn to be shocked.

“Indeed. It's funny to see the shock on your face, since I'm sure I looked like that only a few minutes ago.”

“You did look shocked but...seventeen?” Fili was stunned. He turned, gripping the railing with his hands, tightly. Only minutes before he'd been worried that she would see him differently because of his age, and now he was struggling with it from the other side. Seventeen was still a child to a Dwarf, not in the way people looked at him and Kili as children because of their exuberant behaviour, but a real child. Barely old enough to grip a sword.

And to think, he'd been having...thoughts, about her.

“Fili,” she said, stepping a little closer to grab his attention. “I hope you'll understand my shock now. You're right, I look like a woman, because in all aspects, I am one. I may not be eighteen yet, but I could still get married with my Da's permission, and in April, I won't even need that.”

“I had no idea our races aged so differently, not really.”

“How old did you think I was?” she asked, and he turned to look at her carefully.

“Perhaps...I'm not sure. No younger than thirty.”

“And I'd been thinking that you could not be older than thirty.”

The tension eased as they both laughed, and he allowed himself to breathe a little easier. His near panic attack had told him one thing. He was enchanted by her, her beauty, her enthusiasm, her cheerful outlook in the face of crippling adversity. He was doomed in the way of his uncle and brother, after all. His heart had made a swift leap, and he hadn't even realised how quickly such a thing could happen.

Kili's feelings for Tauriel began to make clear sense to him, for the first time.

But now he knew as well, that human lives burned bright and hot, but oh, so very short. He had no time to waste. Once the mountain was secure, he would be back. And if she felt the same...then no one would keep them apart.

“Do you think, can we still be friends?” she asked hesitantly, and he began to hope, even believe, that she could come to love him, too.

“We can be friends,” Fili agreed, reaching out and taking her hand, sliding his thumb across her wrist and meeting her lovely eyes with his. They widened slightly, but she didn't pull away, only smiled at him brightly, leaning a shade closer.

“Perhaps, we can be even more.”

“I'd like that,” she replied, reaching down and taking his other hand, and his heart beat so hard he was afraid it would burst. Is this how it happened? One moment he was getting on with his life and the next, everything had changed. He had been drawn to her from the first, and it was getting harder to resist the pull. Did life turn on a coin for every Dwarf when they met the One that owned their heart?

They shared a long look, until she blushed and looked down and he knew, without a doubt, that she was thinking the same as he. His plan was set now, there could be no turning back. But there were other things to think of first. They were going to be at least two days behind the others, but now that Kili was healing, they had to think about moving on, and soon. They could stay through the next day, and then depart on the following morning.

He noticed that Sigrid was shivering, her shawl mean protection against the icy wind.

“You're cold,” he said, watching her with concern.

“I'll be fine,” she replied, her chin lifting a little in defiance, but Fili was not fooled. “I'm not ready to go inside yet.”

“Nor am I,” he replied. “But it would be remiss of me to let you freeze just for the sake of your company. Here.”

He unfastened his buckle swiftly and pulled his heavy outer coat off, swinging it up around her shoulders before she could protest. It was quite large across the top, the fur encompassing her chin, while it hung to just above her knees. Still, it was leather and fur and Fili knew well how warm it was.

“What about you?” she protested, but he only scoffed, redoing the buckle around his leather jerkin.

“Oh, I still have several layers, and we Dwarves tend to run hot as it is. Besides, the line of Durin is built strong. We endure.”

“If you're sure,” she said quietly, giving him the sweetest smile he had ever been graced with in his life. It was all worth it, just for that.

“I am. And while I'm happy to stay out here all night talking with you, perhaps we'd better go in soon. We don't know what the tomorrow will bring. It's Durin's Day after all, and that means they'll be entering the mountain at sundown.”

“Do you think they'll wake the dragon?” she was worried, it was in the tremor of her voice, and written across her features.

“I don't know,” he relied honestly. “I hope not. But dragons are canny and imbued with magic. There's no telling what will happen when they go into the mountain.”

They both turned their eyes to the mountain once more, the weight of possibility weighing on them. It was a heavy burden, and Fili sought to lift it, at least a little.

“I think I'd like one more smoke before we go in,” he said, turning back to her with what he hoped was an encouraging grin. “Join me?”

“I'd like that,” she agreed, grinning right back. He moved closer, noticing her eyes widening. He supposed he could have told her what he needed, but it was more fun this way. And telling. As he moved even closer, her breathing sped up, and he had no doubt that her heart was pounding. It was only right, after all, as his heart was battering inside his chest as well.

He reached out and grasped one side of his coat, smirking up at her from under his lashes before pulling it open just the slightest bit, aware that she still held it in her hand. He knew exactly where the pipe was, so it was the work of a moment to take it out, the back of his hand brushing hers as it slipped past.

She let out a huff of air when he held it up and she realised what he'd been about. She smiled weakly, but her eyes were dark and glowing with heat. He'd only just realised that she was as attracted to him as he was to her, but the proof shot through him, and he was even more eager to get to the mountain and help Thorin with the claiming, to make it safe and prosperous once more. He had found a reason beyond the quest and the throne that he kept telling himself he would want, eventually.

He'd found his One, in the most unlikely of places, and there was no erasing the fact of it. As he filled the pipe and lit it, passing it to her between pulls, he felt contentment welling up inside him like it never had before. Life was the work of a moment, he thought then. One moment following the last, preceding the next.

And in one single moment, everything could change.


	16. Like the Wind Through the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He must be dead. He was dying, wasn't he? He was dying and then he saw her, and she was the most beautiful, amazing thing he'd ever seen. If this was the afterlife, he would take it.

Kili woke up slowly, his head full of fog and his limbs heavy, although it was not the same crushing weight as it had been before. It was not the poison dragging him down, but simple exhaustion. He tried to open his eyes but they were as heavy as his limbs, so he gave up the attempt, trying instead to hear what was going on around him.

This must be what being dead felt like. Under mountain, under stone and all that. And yet, if he was dead, how could he feel his limbs, or hear murmured voices from somewhere near, two people speaking quietly, and he recognized those voices.

One was strikingly familiar, like a well worn shirt or a task so routine that you didn't even have to think about it. It was the deeper of the two, and smooth, filled with memory and emotion.

It was Fili, of course, Kili knew that immediately. No one else fit beside him that well, no one else was that comfortable.

But the other. It was also familiar, but its flavour was fresher, newer. The voice was softer, low and yet inherently female. It was green and fresh like rain dripping from the leaves of the trees, like mist on the grass. Then he remembered the dream, the vision he'd thought that his darkened eyes had brought forth from his feverish brain.

Tauriel.

He had seen her there, slipping into Bard's house like a death omen, an omen not for him but for the Orcs. She had slain them all smoothly, each movement graceful, flowing like water from the one before. She was as beautiful as the stars, as flowing as the wind between the trees.

All of the nature references where unsettling. He was not an Elf. He was a Dwarf, and yet, there was no metaphor of stone in mountain halls that would do her justice. She was free, she could not be contained within his world.

He must be alive. Why would Fili and Tauriel be talking in the afterlife?

But how was he alive? He had felt his life flowing away, the fire that had sustained his being had been ebbing, fading along with his strength and his warmth. Then the vision came back to him in an instant and he remembered, she had been joined by the other Elf, the blond one, who had helped her to kill all the Orcs and then left, calling Tauriel to follow.

And yet, she had not. She hadn't left, she had stayed. Then there had been a searing heat burning through his leg, slipping into his blood and burning away all the poison. Tauriel had been glowing, her words flowing akin to her movements, graceful and free like running water, and Kili was fast using up all the words he knew to describe her. She was so far beyond him.

He remembered saying something like that, something far more poetic in speech that it had been in his mind. He remembered asking if she could have loved him, and he knew now that it had been real. Perhaps he should be mortified by his fever driven words, but he was not. Everything had changed when he had first seen her, his life had halted in an instant and turned, rushing swiftly down a new path, one he could not have foreseen, a brighter, more vibrant one. It glowed with the same light that was in her countenance.

He had reached out for her and although she had not said a word in response to his whispered plea, she had taken his hand, her long, slim fingers entwining with his shorter, thicker ones. That was all he remembered before awakening and now he knew that he was awake, not dead, though the voices has silenced. He blinked his eyes open, the low light of the room harsh on his aching eyes.

“Shh, rest,” a voice said, Tauriel's voice. He felt a cool cloth swipe over his forehead and across his cheeks, moistening his lips before moving past them and over his neck. He felt cool and hot at once, though he suspected the flush of heat had more to do with her nearness, with her touch, than any remnant of the fever.

Soon the cloth left him, but her hand had slipped into his, and that was even better.

“Tauriel?” he whispered, his voice little more than a croak, blinking again to clear his eyes, her shape coming into clear focus at last.

“Don't strain yourself,” she scolded, though her voice held only warmth. She brought a cup of water to his lips and helped him lean up to drink it.

He looked at her in amazement, he could still hardly believe that she was there. Her beautiful face was lined with worry, and regret for her distress warred with ecstatic joy at her presence.

“You are not a dream,” he said, his lips curling in a smile.

“No indeed,” she agreed. “And you are very much alive, but the grace of the Valar.”

“You saved me,” he stated, attempting to push himself into a seating position. She helped, propping pillows behind him, her hair brushing her arms, and her scent surrounding him, flashes of water and air and green, growing things. “Why?”

“Because I could,” she replied, her cool fingers gripping his once more. He knew that there was more behind her simple statement, so he waited, patient perhaps for the first time in his life.

“And because I could not bear the thought of your death,” she continued at last, “knowing that I was able to prevent it.”

“I am grateful beyond the ability of words to express,” he said, thrilling in the sight of her blush.

“Your words are far more lovely that I had imagined they would be,” she said, eyes still on their joined hands. “I had not looked to find such eloquence among the Gonnhirrim.”

“We are not, in general, much for words,” he informed her. “But we are lovers of beauty in any form, and when we see beauty beyond measure, we can be moved to poetry.”

“Please,” she deferred, her gaze dropping. “ I am hardly bea...”

He cut her off, a hand cupping her cheek and lifting her gaze to his once more. Her skin was softer than any fleece he had ever felt, smooth and clear.

“Do not speak so unfairly of yourself,” he insisted. “You are fair above the wonders of the world. Your face and form are lovely, it is true, but it is the fire within you that inflames my heart.”

“Kili,” she protested, averting her gaze once more, as though his regard was too heavy a burden to bear.

“I understand that I must be ugly in your eyes, harsh and blunt, but to me, you are more lovely than all the sights my eyes have yet taken in, combined.” Kili knew his heart was well and truly hers, had felt it surge when she had healed him, had suspected it in the prison cell, had felt its flutterings when she had rescued him in the forest. She was One, his only One. There was no going back for him, no matter the outcome.

The fact that she was still beside him, that she held his hand and sat close, speaking quiet and earnestly to him, these things gave his heart a hope that was almost too brilliant to contain.

“No, you are not...” she began, her gaze meeting his once more. She looked dismayed, and took in a deep breath.

“While you are stunted in the eyes of my kin, ungraceful by all the standards I have been trained to expect, I found myself drawn to you nonetheless.” Her eyes were bright and bold, and her words filled him with an emotion that he could not describe, it was too vast for his meagre words.

“You are strong of body and fierce of spirit,” she continued. “Your skill with the bow, your assertions of which I have since had confirmed by your brother, speak of a diligence and dedication that I would have thought beyond you, and yet, Fili spoke further of your craft, of the beads you made for him, that he bears in his braids. The fine detail and intricate rune work tell me much of the deftness of your fingers, and the artistry in your heart.”

It was Kili's turn to blush at the ample praise.

“And yet, it is not those things that have drawn me even closer to you, you ridiculous Dwarf,” she remarked with a smile that lit every part of Kili's soul in a burst of glowing starlight.

“What then?” he asked. “Surely it was not my jest when you led me to my cell.”

She laughed, the sound like the whistle of the wind through the forest, and he was utterly enchanted.

“No, though your bold humour does you credit.” Her eyes dropped to where she held his hand in hers, the other now tracing the shapes of his fingers, the gesture strangely intimate.

“It was your eyes,” she said, lifting hers to meet them. “I had never seen a pair so kind, so filled with life and humour and pureness of spirit. Also your voice, all I had found in your eyes was reflected there, and I found it quite alluring.”

“Alluring, eh?” he said with a smirk, unafraid to be bold with her now that she had proclaimed herself so plainly. He was exhilarated. He could have climbed the mountain in a dozens steps, had his body been fuelled with the bliss in his heart.

“I would not have said so if I did not mean it.”

“Good,” he said. “I would hate to be in this alone.”

“Whatever may come in the future, I'm not certain. Perhaps we will not be able to...be together. But know that you are not in this alone.”

He smiled, unable to keep the joy from his face. She was the loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes on, she was highly skilled, kind, intelligent and funny. She was devoted and talented and absolutely perfect for him. The hardest part may be convincing his Uncle of that, but then again, the way Thorin had taken to Bilbo...well, half Kili's work was already done for him. Thank Mahal for that.

She smiled back, their eyes catching and holding, filling the air between them with a tension that Kili had never experienced before. It was tense, yes, but it was comfortable, too. However, this was not the time and place, so before long they both turned away, chuckling awkwardly. He glanced around the room, finding that Oin had draped himself over the couch and was snoring softly, while Bofur was sprawled across the floor, sleeping just as soundly.

Bard's children must be in the only other room, no doubt their bedroom, but there was still someone missing.

“Where is Fili?” he asked, frowning. “I could have sworn I heard him when I woke up.”

“He is outside, on the balcony,” Tauriel informed him, gesturing toward the door behind her. “Apparently teaching young Sigrid how to smoke a pipe, if I'm hearing correctly.”

“Really? That stinker. He wouldn't even teach me!” He chuckled, and Tauriel did as well.

“Is that not the job of the older brother, to be a bad influence?”

“Perhaps many , but not Fili,” Kili said, leaning back, still holding Tauriel's hand and wondering how long he could get away with it. “He's always been far too responsible. He takes the whole 'heir to the throne' thing very seriously. In fact, I was the one who was always getting him into trouble, though he often took the blame when we were discovered.”

“He is clearly devoted to you,” Tauriel commented, earning a bright grin from Kili.

“He is. I'm the luckiest Dwarf on Middle Earth, to have a brother like him. I'd do anything for him.”

“You make having a sibling sound wonderful,” she said, looking down sadly. “I have always wondered what it would be like.”

“You are an only child, then?”

“Yes. My parents died when I was very young, so Thranduil took me in and raised me as his ward. Legolas is like a brother to me, but I always knew that I was different. I am a Silvan Elf, and Legolas is the King's son.”

“A Silvan Elf? And Thranduil is Sindarin, yes?”

“Indeed. They are generally considered of a more advanced and honourable ancestry, whereas Silvan Elves like myself are lesser. The Noldor like the Lady Galadriel are the most powerful and wisest of all.”

“So, like the different clans of the Khazad? We are of the line of Durin, of the Longbeard clan, we are considered the most powerful and influential of all the Seven Kingdoms. Not that it made a damn bit of difference to the others when Thorin asked for aid on this quest.”

“None of the others aided you?” Tauriel looked surprised.

“Not a one. There's a reason our Company numbers but thirteen.”

“And the Hobbit? How did he come to join you?”

“Gandalf found him for us,” Kili said. “He wasn't going to come at first, but he did, which was a great turn of fortune for us, as it turned out. We would have died more than once if he hadn't.”

“Indeed?”

“Oh, yeah. Bilbo is amazing. We're all very fond of him, especially Uncle.” Kili couldn't help a smirk, thinking of what the Company had to endure with regards to Thorin and Bilbo during the course of their journey.

“He's found favour with the King?” Tauriel asked, genuinely interested, and luckily for Kili, showing no signs of wanting to let go of his hand.

“Oh, more than favour. Thorin is madly in love with him, though you didn't hear it from me. It's common knowledge among the Company. It was kind of hard to miss, they certainly didn't hold back.”

Tauriel watched him thoughtfully, he head tilted to the side, and it struck Kili again just how beautiful she was. His mind flashed back to the first time he had seen her, how she dispatched the spiders with grace and confidence, one movement as efficient as the next. Finally she spoke, her voice pulling Kili back to the present.

“A few short days ago I would have wondered what might have pulled Thorin toward someone so much smaller than him, and a commoner at that. I was raised to believe that such things did not happen. And yet, here I am.”

“And where is here?” Kili asked, sensing that there was something more behind her words.

“Here is in the company of one much smaller of stature than I, and therefore, according to the customs of my people, lesser as well. And yet, it is you who are royalty, and I who am of common birth. I am learning that many of the things I was taught are not as true as I had been led to believe.”

Kili nodded, tugging Tauriel's hand toward him, kissing her knuckles gently.

“And I was taught that all Elves were faithless, devious and not to be trusted,” he admitted. “And although I can't say that your King has impressed me otherwise, you are nothing like that. Even your friend Legolas seems better than that, and the Elves of Rivendell were exceptionally polite and accommodating. We repaid their hospitality rather poorly, I'm ashamed to say.”

Tauriel appeared about to speak, but what she might have said he would never discover, as the balcony door opened, and Bard's eldest daughter slipped inside, a wave of icy air sweeping through the room. She looked warm though, as Fili's fur coat was wrapped around her shoulders. It was quite short on her, but the shoulders were wide and the fur must have been ticking her jaw something fierce. Kili never wore fur, for just that reason. He could not help but gape at her as she turned, a happy smile on her face as she watched Fili slip in after her and close the door.

“You're awake!” Fili exclaimed when he saw Kili sitting up. “Excellent.” He beamed widely and Kili smiled back, just as happy to see his brother. For a while there he had wondered if he would meet his end in a tiny house in Laketown, only steps away from Erebor. The thought of leaving Fili was almost as bad as the thought of dying at all. He hoped that he'd never have to face such an event, for a very long stretch of years.

Fili looked away, smiling softly at Sigrid as she smiled back, both of them paused in a moment that had Kili's mind spinning. He had been in such a moment not long before, and knew exactly what it meant.

“Oh, here,” Sigrid said, slipping Fili's coat off her shoulders and passing it back to him. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Fili replied, grinning brightly, clutching the coat in his hands. She stared at him, wide eyed, for another long moment and then turned away, calling good night to all of them as she slipped across the room, stepping carefully over Bofur before slipping through the door to the room that she shared with her siblings.

“What was that?” Kili asked his brother, who flushed before coughing and moving further into the room, settling down on a bench under the window.

“Nothing at all, little brother,” Fili said, though he must know that he wasn't fooling Kili one bit. They knew each other far too well for that.

“I'll get it out of you,” Kili insisted, but Fili was spread across the bench now, covered to the chin in his coat. He grunted a non answer and then proceeded to ignore Kili. Very rude, considering how near to death he had been only hours before. The danger had well and truly passed, if Fili was treating him normally again, instead of acting like he was made of glass.

“It's time for you to sleep as well,” Tauriel insisted, slipping a pillow out from under him and helping him to lie down. “I'll check your wound in the morning, though I'm sure it is healing quickly now.”

“Tauriel,” he said, reaching out for her hand before she slipped away. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Kili,” she replied, smiling sweetly before leaving him, slipping out the door that Sigrid and Fili had just entered, no doubt to keep watch over all of them until the sunrise. Kili smiled to himself, remembering the soft cadence of her voice and the strength in her hand. He thought of the way she'd glowed while she'd healed him, and whispered his thanks to Mahal for bringing her into his life. Truly, he did not deserve such a blessing, but Kili was a selfish Dwarf and he fully intended to grab hold onto what was growing between them and hold on for all he could.

Nothing in his life was certain except for this. He would love Tauriel, every day for the rest of his life, however long or short that life may prove to be.


	17. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything seems to be riding on the Arkenstone. And if Thorin gets it, what then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger warning, check the end notes if you feel the need.

He needs to give Thorin the Arkenstone. He'd been pondering it for a long while, as he dug through pile after pile of treasure, partly to keep busy and partly to look the part. After all the scenarios he'd tossed around in his mind, it came down to the fact that Thorin was single minded and obsessed...and Bilbo wasn't sure that keeping it hidden was the right idea. He kept turning it all over and over but in the end, he hoped that having the Arkenstone would lessen Thorin's rage and disappointment. He thought that, if he gave Thorin the Arkenstone, that he would feel secure and successful, and would no longer need to micro manage every aspect of everyone's lives. Maybe then he would let Bilbo breathe. Maybe then he would be reasonable.

Oh, Bilbo knew there were many ways that this could go wrong. On the other hand, no matter what he did, it could still go so very wrong. With Thorin in this state no one was really safe, and all Bilbo could hope to do was to snap him out of it. The entire situation was fraught with pitfalls.

The morning was upon him before he knew it, and the people of Laketown were no doubt approaching, the Master or perhaps one of his lackeys. They would ask for what was promised to them, and Thorin...well. There was no doubt in Bilbo's mind. Thorin would deny it to them. Perhaps...unless the Arkenstone was found.

“Bilbo!” Bofur was above on the steps that lead to the main halls. “Thorin called us to the gate! Bard approaches.”

“Bard?” Bilbo asked, surprised. The four who had rejoined them from Laketown hadn't been certain that Bard or his son had lived, so Bilbo was happy to hear that he had. “I'm coming.”

He scrambled up out of the gold, taking a different path, but still arriving at the gate as Thorin and the others mounted the battlements. He joined them, fear and apprehension roiling in his belly, though it was cut with a surge of relief to see Bard well.

“Hail Thorin, son of Thrain! We are glad to find you alive beyond hope,” he said, his face stern but hopeful.

“Why do you come to the gates of the King under the Mountain armed for war?” Thorin asked, and it was all Bilbo could do not to knock his head against the stone.

“Why does the King under the Mountain fence himself in? Like a robber in his hole,” Bard shot back and Bilbo thought perhaps if he knocked Bard's head against Thorin's perhaps he could knock some sense into both of them. It would spare him more than one headache.

“Perhaps it is because I am expecting to be robbed.”

“My lord, we have not come to rob you, but to seek fair settlement. At any rate, the army is not ours,” Bard pointed out. “We have no wish to fight you or to lay claim on any but that which is owed to us. Will you not speak with me?”

Thorin nodded, stepping away and down the stairs, to the hole that was formed in the wall, for just this purpose. Bilbo followed him, feeling the need to be there. He told Thorin he would stay beside him, and he would.

"I'm listening,” Thorin said. “State your case.”

“On behalf of the people of Laketown, I ask that you honour your pledge. They have no quarrel with you and wish only a small share of the treasure so that they might rebuild their lives.”

“I will not treat with any man while an armed host lies before my door.” Thorin was as cold as Bilbo had ever seen him, and his heart burned with the pain of it. This was not his Thorin, the Dwarf in front of him had never been so far from the real Thorin as he was now.

“That armed host has naught to do with me. Thranduil believes that he has a claim to some part of the treasure, but we only claim that which you promised us. The fact remains, however, that Thranduil will attack this mountain if we do not come to terms.” Bard was intense and earnest, but Bilbo had no hope that his words would sway Thorin.

“Your threats do not sway me,” Thorin said, and Bilbo lifted his eyes to the heavens, praying for patience. “Thranduil has no claim at all, and he would attack you also if he had but the slightest reason.”

“Thranduil brought us food and water and asks nothing in return. While I do not agree with the presence of his army, I cannot be anything but grateful to him for his assistance.”

“I have no food to give you, though perhaps if Thranduil had presented me with such, instead of an armed host, then I would see fit to treat with him.”

“Toss Thranduil! His quarrel with you is his own and I would have no part of it, if we could reach an agreement. What of your conscience? Does it not tell you our cause is just? My people offered you help. And in return you brought upon them only ruin and death!” Bilbo could tell that Bard was getting more and more frustrated, and anger was not far behind. Thorin would no doubt continue to be unreasonable, and Bilbo could think of only one way to stop it.

“When did the men of Laketown come to our aid, but for the promise of rich reward?”

“A bargain was struck!”

“A bargain? What choice did we have but to barter our birthright for blankets and food? To ransom our future in exchange for our freedom? You call that a fair trade? Tell me, Bard the Dragon-slayer, why should I honour such terms?”

Bilbo swallowed heavily, wanting nothing more than to tear Thorin away from this farce of a negotiation. He knew that Thorin was right, that their promise of gold in exchange for freedom had been made under duress. And yet, the people of Laketown had suffered much under the dragon's fire, and had all but nothing left to them, with winter fast approaching.

“Because you gave us your word. Does that mean nothing?” Bard tried, fruitlessly. “We have more to offer you, Thorin. We are weak now, but with the gold we could buy food and materials, and we could rebuild together, both Dale and Erebor. We could be great allies, and Thranduil would have no choice but to be reasonable. If only you would come to your senses and end this madness!”

“I have nothing more to say to you, Bard. If you send Thranduil and his army home, then perhaps we will speak again.”

“I cannot command or predict Thranduil's actions. But if you cannot be made to see reason, I will have no choice but to stand beside him tomorrow, and fight for what is owed to us. For what we need to survive the winter. I would rather it not come to that, my people have seen enough death. We've no wish to see more.”

“I will not treat under threat of war, Bard of Dale,” Thorin said coldly. “Remove the threat and we will speak more. Stand with it and we will defend ourselves. The choice is yours. Now begone!”

Thorin turned away from the hole, and Bilbo caught a glance of a fuming Bard, who smacked the stone angrily, desperation in his eyes.

“That choice is out of my hands, Thorin Oakenshield. I have not the power to stem the tide of war. That power lies with you alone!” he tried one last time.

“Be gone, ere arrow fly!” Thorin called back, his face filled with cold triumph, the look turning Bilbo’s stomach.

“What are you doing?” he asked Thorin, desperately. “You cannot go to war.”

“There is nothing to fear, my Hobbit,” Thorin said, his eyes softening just a bit as he turned to gaze at Bilbo, pleased to find him by his side.

“Excuse me? But just in case you haven’t noticed, there is an army of Elves out there! And not to mention several hundred angry fishermen. We are in fact outnumbered.”

Thorin smiled at him, pulling him close. “Not for much longer,” he whispered into Bilbo's ear.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you should never underestimate Dwarves,” Thorin replied. “My cousin Dain is no doubt on his way as we speak. He will fight for us, but we must find the Arkenstone.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, knowing that now was the time, now was the only time he could do anything to stop this.

“About that, Thorin,” Bilbo said, uncertainty mingling with hopelessness. But he had made his choice, and it was time to carry it out. It was best to do it now, while they had a moment of semi privacy, the others up on the battlements, no doubt having heard every word of the exchange between Thorin and Bard.

“I...I found it,” Bilbo told him, watching the shock and disbelief in Thorin's eyes turn to hope.

“You found it...” Thorin repeated, staring at Bilbo, an odd, fiery light inside them, so like the light that he used to see, so like it that Bilbo could almost believe that Thorin was back. Almost.

“Yes, I...here,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the stone. It shone in the space between them, glimmering with colour and light the likes of which Bilbo had never seen, nor could he have imagined, had the evidence not lay on his palm. It was an exceptional stone, no doubt. That it was worth all this, Bilbo was less sure.

“My Halfling,” Thorin breathed, staring at the stone and then back up at Bilbo, a broad smile sweeping across his face. “You are truly a perfect gift from Mahal!”

“Yes, well,” Bilbo began, but Thorin ignored him, pressing closer. He took the stone from Bilbo, gazing at it in wonder before grabbing Bilbo in his arms and kissing him, hard and fast, the first time he had since the morning they'd opened the door.

It was not a pleasant kiss, however, and Bilbo wanted no part of it.

“Thorin, stop,” he said, once he'd managed to free his mouth. Thorin either didn't hear him or he didn't care, laving kisses over Bilbo's neck, biting him as well, harder than was pleasant. Bilbo was well aware that the others were within the range of hearing, and that they could see everything that was transpiring, if they wished. The thought froze his blood to ice, and he tried to push Thorin away.

Even had they been alone, this was not something that Bilbo wanted. Thorin like this was not Thorin. He was harsh and cruel and did not care to brook any opinion but his own. He continued to paw at Bilbo, pulling at his clothes, his strength and size overcoming any protest that Bilbo could muster.

“Thorin, I said no!” he yelled, pushing against him again, his mind pointing out, most unhelpfully, that this is not one of the ways he'd thought it could go wrong.

“Yes, my precious Hobbit,” Thorin said, pulling Bilbo down with him as he sank to his knees, pushing Bilbo onto the cold stone and holding him there with the weight of his body, the Arkenstone still grasped within one hand. “I will have you here, with the King's Jewel, the most precious of my treasures, together.”

“Thorin, stop,” Bilbo cried, trying to wrench himself away but having no luck. Thorin shifted and Bilbo felt the hard line of arousal that he had always loved, he had revelled in the feel of it pressed against him, but this time it was biting and painful. “I don't want this. Everyone is right there,” he tried, hoping to get through to Thorin on another level.

It didn't work.

“I know you are shy of your love for me,” Thorin murmured, his free hand tugging at Bilbo's shirt as he pressed their groins together, uncaring or unaware that Bilbo was not hard at all, ignoring completely his struggles for freedom. “But I want you now, and I will have you. You are mine, Hobbit, you would do well not to forget that.”

Thorin looked down at him, the harsh flare of dragon fire alive in his eyes. Bilbo knew that there was nothing he could say that would stop this, that Thorin was too far gone. Giving him the Arkenstone had been a mistake, and for the first time, he was afraid of Thorin, not for him. Deeply, seriously afraid. All the safety that Bilbo had felt in his arms, that he had relished for so long, it was all gone.

Thorin was going to rape him here, on the cold stone under his blasted wall, and there was nothing Bilbo could do to stop him.

Nothing, perhaps, but Bilbo struggled anyway, his attempts at escape now fuelled by raging adrenaline. Thorin ignored them as he had before, succeeding in getting Bilbo's trousers partly undone, one hand still holding the Arkenstone. Bilbo knew Thorin would never let it go, that he would never let him go. He was trapped.

“Thorin!” came a shout from above them, followed by footsteps pounding down the rock, as Dwalin and Fili rushed toward them, grasping Thorin's arms, desperately trying to pull him off Bilbo, but Thorin was stronger, his adrenalin pumping as well. He threw them off, but in that moment Bilbo was able to slip free, to crawl backwards and away, his limbs flailing madly in the process.

Two things happened then. Bilbo's elbow cracked into Thorin's hand, the one holding the stone, and somehow, Thorin let it go. It went skittering across the floor, the sharp, tinkling sound of it breaking through the din, making Thorin's head snap up, just as Bilbo's foot kicked out and he turned, scrambling away.

His heel connected with Thorin's temple, hard, hard enough that Bilbo wondered if he'd broken a bone, whether in his foot or Thorin's head. No, it would have to be in his foot, as Thorin's skull was no doubt made of solid rock.

But it was enough. The loss of the stone and the blow to the head worked together, jarring Thorin, the fire crashing out of his eyes as he took in the tableau before him with a clear head. Bilbo could see his face, all trace of madness gone, his eyes wide with shock and fear, followed quickly by disgust as he saw Bilbo several feet away, his shirt torn and his trousers half undone.

“Bilbo,” he croaked, his voice broken, as broken as the look that came over his face when the shock had worn off and the reality of what he'd been about to do overtook him. It was the first time that he had used Bilbo's name since they had entered the mountain, and it cracked open a gate in Bilbo's chest, relief pouring out in waves.

Bilbo was vaguely aware of Balin scooping up the stone, even as the others flanked them, half near Bilbo, to render protection if need be, and the other half, the bigger half, behind Thorin, ready to tackle him if he made another aggressive move.

He didn't. He sat back, pushing himself further away from Bilbo, his eyes still clear and despite it all, Bilbo felt like crying with joy.

“I'm...no, I didn't...I would never, I...” Thorin was more than on the verge of tears, they were streaming down his face though he was heedless of them, his mouth working at making sounds, but failing. He raised his shaking hands and stared at them wildly before looking back at Bilbo, the crushing reality fracturing something within him.

“Bilbo,” he said, shaking his head in denial. “Amralime,” he whispered brokenly, his despair a knife into Bilbo's heart.

Bilbo gasped, the tears that had been threatening were falling now, now that it was over. He knew then with utter surety that Thorin was back, that the madness had fled, for only his Thorin would be so broken in the face of the actions of a madman.

“Thorin,” he said, pushing up and moving forward, needing to take Thorin in his arms, to ensure that he was really there, that it was really real.

“No!” Thorin yelled, throwing himself further away, fear and desperation writ across his face. “No, don't, Bilbo, don't come any closer.” He clambered to his feet, taking a few more steps back as spoke.

“Don't come near me,” he cried, looking smaller and more lost than Bilbo had ever seen him. “I'll hurt you, I...I can't be trusted.”

“You can, Thorin, you're back,” Bilbo said, standing up as well, pulling his trousers together and tucking in his shirt, approaching Thorin carefully, as one would a wild animal. “The madness is gone, I can see it in your eyes.” Thorin took another step back, breaking Bilbo's heart a little more with every shaky movement.

“Please,” he said, but Thorin would have none of it.

“No, I...no,” he said, turning away and pounding across the hall, calling out over his shoulder as he went. “Leave me be. Oin, make sure he's unhurt, please.” And then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Thorin ran. He ran through halls and up stairwells and across causeways, trying to lose himself so that maybe, just maybe, he could forget what he had almost done. So he could forget the look on Bilbo’s face in that moment, when he'd come to his senses.

Everything he'd done had rushed through his brain, a torrent of brutal, paranoid, possessive behaviour beyond anything he'd feared he could be capable of. The sight of Bilbo desperate to get away from him, his clothes torn and his face slack with fear, would be emblazoned within his memory forever. Bilbo's fear...not fear for Thorin, which he'd seen before, but fear of Thorin, had shattered open a would in Thorin's chest. He hurt, as he had never hurt before, every part of his body and soul tortured by the knowledge that, in his madness, he could have hurt Bilbo. That he would have, had the madness not been shocked out of him.

He'd always thought that Bilbo's eventual departure would break his heart, but he'd never imagined that his own actions would break it first.

Finally he stopped, slumped in an alcove far from the main halls, halfway up a long winding staircase. He held his still shaking hands in front of him, staring at them with utter disgust and loathing. To think that those hands had held Bilbo down against his will, had tried to force something from him that should never be forced. Something that had always been such a blessing between them, that had always bridged their differences, something that Thorin valued above everything else, other than Bilbo's simple presence.

He'd hurt Bilbo. He would have hurt him more, hurt him beyond repair. He remembered it all, every moment of the madness was held within him, every moment of the intense gold lust, every time he had doubted the loyalty of his kin. Worse yet was all the horrible things he'd said to Bilbo, his harsh, cold voice speaking words of ownership instead of love, his actions driven by a depraved possessiveness instead of the adoration in his heart.

He'd owned the treasure, he still did, despite his sudden desire to destroy every bit of it, to never see it again, but in the depths of the madness, he'd believed that he owned Bilbo as well. As if Bilbo was merely a possession to be kept, merely a part of the hoard.

His actions were unforgivable.

Bilbo did not belong to anyone but himself. He was not a possession, a piece of treasure to be guarded. No matter how much Thorin treasured him, he was a person, flesh and blood and living breath, completely autonomous from Thorin's will. The thought that he would have forced himself on Bilbo, his One, the one who had inspired the purest love Thorin had ever known...it made him ill, the nausea flooding him until he tasted bile. He turned, climbing onto his knees and vomiting all over the floor.

The poison flowed out of him endlessly, his stomach cramped and his throat burning before the end, leaving him weak and shaking as he crawled away, collapsing onto the floor, the stone soothingly cold beneath his cheek.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there, prostrate in his grief and self loathing, before the sound of approaching footsteps breached his stupor, bringing him out of the endless cycle of self flagellation and bitter regret.

The footsteps stopped a few feet away, and Thorin didn't need to look up to know who was there.

“You've made quite a mess of things, haven't you?” Dwalin said, his voice lacking even the slightest bit of sympathy. Thorin was grateful, he didn't deserve it, and he couldn't have faced it.

“I...Dwalin,” he stuttered, not even knowing what to say. He pushed off the floor and sat against the opposite wall, staying far away from the mess on the floor, yet another reminder of how far he'd fallen.

“I have ruined everything,” he said at last, leaning his head back and breathing slowly to maintain his calm, as Dwalin sat beside him.

“Perhaps not completely,” Dwalin assured him, but Thorin was unmoved. “He's worried about you,” Dwalin continued, and Thorin winced as he realised who Dwalin was talking about.

“How can he bear to think of me at all?” he wondered aloud. “I have hurt him. He's my very heart and soul and I would have hurt him, irreversibly, and I cannot bear it.”

Dwalin was silent, no doubt pondering his next words. He'd always been slow to speak, but when he did, Thorin was wise enough to listen.

“All is not lost,” Dwalin insisted. “You were lost to the madness and we all know it. It wasn't you, Thorin, it was not your heart and soul in those actions and words. We all know it, especially Bilbo. It is up to him to forgive you or not, and if he does, then you must find a way to forgive yourself. If the one you have injured has given you forgiveness, then you cannot withhold it from yourself.”

Thorin was stunned by the wisdom of Dwalin's words. He was right. He must offer his forgiveness, to Bilbo, to all of them, and make sure that his actions backed up his words. If they forgave him, he had to let them. He had no right to refuse them that.

“He promised he'd stay beside me,” Thorin said sadly. “He kept his promise. It was I who was faithless.”

“You were overcome. I am not giving you an excuse, Thorin, but do not separate yourself from us, or from Bilbo. We all care about you, and now that you are back to yourself, we do not want to lose you one more time. We want to help you heal, if you will let us.”

“How can you possibly help me after what I did? After how I treated you all? After what I almost did to Bilbo?”

“We can because we love you, and we know that together, we can move past this.”

Thorin breathed deeply, wondering if he could bring himself to follow Dwalin's advice. He wasn't sure he could face Bilbo without breaking down completely. He closed his eyes and breathed, letting his thoughts flow, away from what he had done, away from the so recent and painful past, and into the future. He had a lot to make up for, he had destroyed so much in so few days. He must face those he had wronged, from Bard and his people, to the Company, to Bilbo. Especially to Bilbo.

“I think I know what I have to do,” he said, grateful that Dwalin was as patient with the words of others as he was with his own.

“You have a plan, then?” Dwalin asked eagerly. He was nothing if not a Dwarf of action.

“Yes, for the most part,” Thorin said, wanting nothing more than to hide in the mountain forever, but he did not have that option. “What time is it?” he asked, aware that it had been early morning when he had come back to himself, but he had retreated so far into the mountain that no hints of the hour were visible.

“After dinner,” Dwalin told him. “Here. You need to eat something.” He handed over a water skin and a large chunk of cram.

“Thank you,” he said, wetting his mouth before eating the food quickly, not tasting it. Eating was a physical necessity, but he had so many more important thins to do. He finished quickly and stood, facing Dwalin and putting his hand on his friend's shoulder, encouraged when Dwalin returned the gesture. They banged their foreheads together, hard as ever, the sting of it comforting Thorin, and it seemed to do the same for Dwalin. The gesture loosened something in Dwalin's face, and Thorin felt a similar loosening in his heart.

“Let's go find the others,” Thorin said. “We have work to do. I will not spend another night in this accursed mountain.” He turned, heading back in the direction he'd come, letting his feet take him to more familiar pathways. He had grown up in Erebor after all, he knew its stone better than any other, no matter that he'd lived in Ered Luin for a longer stretch of years.

They found the Company together, minus Bifur, who had taken the watch. Thorin stood motionless in the doorway as he took in their weary faces, all lined with concern. He looked quickly at Bilbo before turning away, unable to meet his eyes, unwilling to embrace the breakdown that he knew was coming. This was not the time for that.

“To the gate,” he said quietly, aware that he had spoken those very words that morning, in a very different state of mind. “We have much to discuss, and I would have us all together.”

The Company looked at each other warily, but it was clear from the brightness of Thorin's eyes and his humble demeanour that the madness had truly broken. They followed him to the gate, where he called Bifur down from the ramparts. Once they were gathered, he took a deep breath and looked up at them soberly.

“Firstly,” he began, praying to Mahal for the strength to get through this. “I want to apologize to each and every one of you for my behaviour over the last few days. I know,” he continued, holding up a hand for silence when it looked like they would interject. “I know that you may think I am excused, for the most part, of my actions while I was held in the grip of the madness, but I do not agree. Regardless of the reason behind my actions, you did not deserve them. So I am apologizing.” He looked at each of them in turn, ending with Bilbo, whose intense, sorrowful gaze held him frozen in place. He swallowed and looked away before continuing.

“Dwalin reminded me, if you see fit to forgive me, that it would be wrong of me to hold back from forgiving myself, so I will try my best to do so. The other side is, that you must allow me to make amends, for everything I've done.”

“We all knew, Thorin,” Balin said, moving closer, reaching out to grasp Thorin's shoulder, pulling him down until their heads met. He pulled back and smiled, acceptance and forgiveness in his eyes, and Thorin's frozen insides melted just a little bit more. “We knew you were ill, that you were not yourself. And now, we can see that the sickness has passed, that it's really you back with us again. We will accept your apology, if you will accept our forgiveness.”

Thorin found, to his dismay, that his eyes were filling with hot tears, that his heart was pounding away in his chest. He looked down, one tear slipping when the Company agreed with cheers and slaps on the back, all of them rushing towards him at once. He accepted their affection, returning hugs from Fili and Kili, and then turned back to the rest. It was time to get down to business.

“Right then,” he said. “Now that's over, we have things to do, and quickly. The most important thing right now is that I cannot abide spending another night in this mountain. There is truly a curse on the gold, and I will not allow any of us to be affected by it any longer. When Gandalf comes back, which I hope will be soon, I will ask him to do what he can to remove it. Until then, we will set camp outside the gates, and only venture in during the days, at need. Objections?”

Thorin looked around the group, but no one had any, they were all nodding, Balin and Ori taking notes, as usual.

“What about the wall?” Bofur asked, and Thorin nodded. That was something that had escaped him.

“Right, the wall. We'll have to tear it down.”

“That'll take longer than putting it up did,” Dori pointed out, “if we do it by hand.” But Thorin had another plan.

“The bell,” he said, gesturing at the long silenced bell that used to hang above the main hall, chiming the time. “We'll use it as a battering ram, it'll be quick and the clean up won't be too hard, I think. Dori, Nori, Bifur, you lot take care of that.”

They nodded their agreement, and Thorin moved on to the next point of business.

“I have no intention of giving a single piece of the treasure to Bard, or anyone else, until Gandalf has seen to it. I have no idea what trouble it may cause, as men are much more influenced by that type of magic. However, I think it prudent that we prepare a contract outlining what he can expect, although I believe he will be sceptical, and rightly so.”

“I can get on that right away, laddie,” Balin said, and Thorin nodded, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“Get Ori to help you with the transcribing,” he said, nodding at the Dwarf in question. “You'll need the help because I want you to write one up for Thranduil as well.”

“You can't be serious,” Dwalin said with a growl, but Thorin stopped him with a look.

“I am,” he said firmly. “While I despise the pointy eared tree hugger, the fact is, his help will be vital to the survival of everyone this winter, Dwarves as well as Men. We need food and medicines, and perhaps linens if our stores prove empty. Oin, and Gloin, you find as much linen as you can, clothes and blankets and what not, oh, and see if you can't find any tents. I don't fancy sleeping under the stars when it starts to snow.”

“You got it,” Gloin said, slapping his brother on the back.

“Bofur, Bombur, take stock of our food stores, there should be some things at least that the dragon did not destroy. Much was preserved every year, and I'm certain you'll find some that is still in good condition.”

“Aye, we're on it,” Bofur said, while Bombur nodded his agreement.

“Fili, Kili, you two go with Dwalin and find us some gear for the camp. Cots, stoves, whatever you can lay your hands on. We'll need it. Dain should be here sometime tomorrow, so there will be plenty of help after that. First thing in the morning I will set out to talk to Bard and Thranduil, and get our issues sorted. We'll all have to wait for the Wizard, but in the meantime, we can make a start. Agreed?”

There was a rousing chorus of agreement, and Thorin smiled, truly, for the first time in days. It felt amazing. He did not deserve the devotion and loyalty of his Company, but he would accept their forgiveness and assistance willingly.

“One more thing, before we get started,” Thorin said, knowing that this next decision was likely to be the hardest for him to go through with, although, if he continued to feel the way he did in that moment, perhaps it would not be a problem.

“The Arkenstone.” Just saying the word had the Company tense and wary again, and Thorin winced, his shame threatening to overtake him once more. “I want it gone,” he continued, to the obvious relief of the others.

“I don't know which of you scooped it up this morning, but I ask that you keep it hidden. When Gandalf returns I will have it given to him, to do with as he will. On this however, I need your most serious agreement.”

“Won't Dain and the others want to see it, to assure themselves of your right to rule?” Dwalin asked.

“Yes, they will,” Thorin agreed. “But I cannot bear to have it near me, or anywhere in this mountain. We will tell anyone who asks that the stone was never recovered. It was consumed by the dragon. I will rule this mountain and if any choose not to pledge their loyalty to me without the stone, they can go elsewhere. Before the stone was found no King needed such a token to ensure his right to rule, he was the King and it was not doubted. As such, I do not need it now. It will disappear, understood? I must have your oaths on this. Not a word must be spoken on this matter, from now on. Whoever has it can surrender it to Gandalf when he arrives, and I will ensure that he knows the task is my wish.”

The Company looked grim but relieved, for which Thorin could not blame them. “Excellent. Let's begin. The night is fast upon us.”

They all dispersed, intent on their tasks, leaving Thorin face to face with his. The biggest task, the most important one. The hardest one. He had to apologize to Bilbo, he had hurt him the worst, he had broken Bilbo's trust. He had broken his trust in himself. He did not feel equal to the task, but he could not bear being at odds with Bilbo, no matter what the result. In this he feared he would have the hardest time following Dwalin's advice. How could he forgive himself for touching Bilbo against his will? For putting that fear into his eyes?

He had begun to accept that he did not deserve Bilbo's love or his trust. If he could gain the latter back, then perhaps they could part as friends. Bilbo had always intended to leave, and Thorin was certain that nothing had changed. If anything, the events of that morning would be more incentive for him to leave.

Thorin couldn't bring himself to pray to Mahal that Bilbo would stay. Not anymore. He did not deserve such a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've scrolled down for a trigger warning, know that there is a madness fuelled encounter that I can only define as attempted rape. Have a care, but keep in mind the context, okay folks?


	18. Restitution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all goes down in the aftermath. Thorin finds he has a lot to apologize for.

“You didn't give me anything to do,” Bilbo pointed out, his voice subdued as he appraised Thorin thoroughly. Thorin met his eyes steadily, though his heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest.

“Because the apology I just made to the others was not enough for what I have done to you. It included you, yes, but I owe you much more than that.”

“All right,” Bilbo said. “Shall we find somewhere a little more private?”

“I'm...not sure if that's a good idea,” Thorin said, the thought of being alone with Bilbo both thrilled and terrified him.

“Thorin, how do you feel about what happened this morning? Between us,” Bilbo asked, and Thorin's stomach clenched, nausea bubbling upwards once more.

“I...awful,” he said, then shook his head. “No, that does not come close to describing it. Bilbo, I feel utterly ashamed of myself, I am sickened at the thought of it. That I could have hurt you makes me want to run as far away as I can, although being apart from you is the last thing I could wish.”

“So it didn't make you happy, then.”

“No!” Thorin said. “Bilbo, no!”

“Then I don't think we'll be having any problems, do you?” Bilbo lifted a brow at Thorin, giving him a pointed look. Thorin was breathing heavily now, his emotions all over the place, but he calmed at Bilbo's calm, his surety.

“Come,” Bilbo said, reaching out a hand and taking Thorin's, squeezing it gently before leading him away from the front gate, not too far, but still far enough that they would not be disturbed.

Thorin's tight, painful chest loosened at the touch of Bilbo's hand, and he shivered, goosebumps rising up all over his body. He was afraid to touch Bilbo, afraid of what his hands could do, but when Bilbo touched him, freely and without hesitation, it soothed his aching nerves and calmed his breathing.

Bilbo found a quiet place, at the foot of yet another staircase, gesturing Thorin to sit, which he did. Bilbo sat beside him, close enough to touch, too close for Thorin's peace of mind. He knew that the madness had fled him, he knew that he would never touch Bilbo with force again, not as long as he kept his mind.

But he hadn't even known that his mind had been subverted. He could not recall when it had happened, although he remembered the urges rising up in him when they were in Laketown. When they'd opened the door he'd felt yet another surge of need, he needed to see the gold, he needed to touch it, he needed to hold it in his hands and own it. He had pushed it aside when he'd smelled the air, felt the stone of Erebor beneath his fingers once more, but then, he'd seen the gold and the need had overwhelmed all else. Now that he seriously thought about it, he realised that it was in that moment, when the mountain filled his senses and the glint of gold was visible, that he had been lost.

And yet, he hadn't known it. He'd thought himself fine, as always, although he recalled that he hadn't noticed the urge anymore. He didn't fight the urges because they did not register with him. It was his, all of it, and the need was satisfied. He dropped his head into his hands, shaky and weak once more, knowing just how fast it had overcome him was not helpful. It could happen again at any moment.

“No, it couldn't,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked up at his open, sympathetic face and he cringed. He didn't deserve Bilbo's sympathy. And he hadn't realised he'd been speaking out loud.

“Bilbo, I...” he stopped, unsure of what to say, of how to express to Bilbo how he was feeling. “I have never been so sorry for my actions, ever. I don't think I can make you understand just how horrendous it was, what I was going to...”

“No,” Bilbo interrupted him. “I can hear your remorse in every word, I can see it in your face when you look at me. I want you to know that I understand how sorry you are, Thorin.”

Bilbo got up and crouched down in front of him, grasping both of Thorin's hands in his. Thorin couldn't help but flinch at the touch, as desperately as he wanted it. He let Bilbo hold his hands, unable to close his fingers around them. He knew, he could feel the clarity in his head, he knew that his mind was clear. But it was as if he couldn't trust his hands any more. They had grasped a struggling Bilbo and held him down, and the memory had broken something inside Thorin.

“Look at me,” Bilbo said firmly, squeezing Thorin's hands harder, bringing his attention back to the present. Thorin looked up, tears clouding his vision, blurring Bilbo's familiar, much loved face. Bilbo's eyes were filled with warmth, a far cry from what they had been that morning, and he was smiling gently, waiting for Thorin to gather himself.

“I'm only going to say this once, so I need you to listen,” he said. “Are you listening?”

Thorin nodded hesitantly. He needed to hear what Bilbo had to say.

“I was terrified this morning,” he began, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut. “No, open your eyes.” Thorin did, and Bilbo started again.

“I was terrified this morning. Because you have never, not once touched me unless I'd invited it. Even that first night, I knew that you would have left if I'd asked you. You've never touched me with anything but respect, and that was seriously lacking today. Thorin, if I hadn't already known it wasn't you, that would have clinched it. It wasn't you, Thorin. I'm not afraid of you now, am I?”

Thorin took him in, his determined look, the affection in his eyes, the strength of his hands where they grasped his. He was on his knees, leaning close, almost between Thorin's legs. When had that happened?

“I'm not afraid of you,” Bilbo repeated. “But I understand if you'll need time. Honestly, I'm not ready to jump back into bed with you, even if there was an opportunity. But please, Thorin, please don't push me away. We're friends, aren't we?”

“You are so much more than a friend to me,” Thorin replied hoarsely.

“As are you to me,” Bilbo said, moving a bit closer still. “I told you I'd stand beside you, and I will continue to do so. Until this is over, until you are safe and secure and the threats have passed.”

“And then you'll leave,” Thorin said, his voice slipping into a flat acceptance. He had struggled against Bilbo's departure before, had prayed for him to stay, but now...now he knew that Bilbo must leave him. It was for the best.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I told you I would help you take your home back, and I will hold to that promise. I meant it. But once it is secure, Thorin...I need to go home. I miss the Shire, and Bag End, and I have responsibilities there. I need to go home. I want to.”

“I understand,” Thorin said, nodding his head. “I needed to come home as well.” He managed a smile, somehow, and the answering one from Bilbo lit his heart.

“I am sorry, Bilbo. For trying to force you this morning. For treating you as if you were a possession instead of a person. For leading you out your door and into such peril.”

“I am not sorry, Thorin. I am glad to have shared in your perils.” Bilbo held his eyes, and his hands, and, his heart. “And I accept your apology. For everything. I forgive you, Thorin. Remember that.”

Thorin dropped his head once more, holding Bilbo's gaze had become a challenge instead of a gift.

“Thorin, do you accept my forgiveness?” Bilbo asked, his hand cupping Thorin's cheek and raising his head to meet Bilbo's eyes once more. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Thorin whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Then we will speak of it no more. Agreed?” Thorin could see the determination in Bilbo's eyes, he could see the fire that filled him. That spine of steel was on display in his face, and Thorin had never loved him more.

“Agreed.”

“Good.” He leaned in closer, lifting himself up until his face was level with Thorin's and kissed him. It was soft, hesitant and careful, but it was like the brush of heaven on Thorin's soul. Bilbo's lips clung to his, and the hand on his cheek slipped back to clasp his neck, holding Thorin in place as he gave a more visceral forgiveness with his touch. Thorin couldn't bring himself to embrace Bilbo in return, the memories were still too near.

He pulled back, smiling brightly at him, a smile Thorin hadn't seen for too long. Thorin's chest warmed through, Bilbo's forgiveness the balm that soothed his tortured soul. He would endeavour to forgive himself, and one day he would be able to look at Bilbo or touch him, without feeling just a little bit sick.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo didn't keep Thorin from the others for long. It was obvious that Thorin was uncomfortable, and considering the events of the day, Bilbo understood completely. It seemed that Thorin was having a much harder time coming to grips with what had happened than he was.

It had been horrible, and Bilbo wished that things could have gone differently, but the fact is, the events that had transpired that morning had led directly to Thorin regaining his senses. He could not regret that. Bilbo had been frightened, it was true...and he was still feeling rather shaken and hesitant around Thorin, but he had been there, he had seen the deterioration of Thorin's mind, his slide into madness. He knew that Thorin would never have hurt him, if he had been of sound mind.

Convincing Thorin of that was going to be more difficult.

Thorin had left him with a shaky smile, and a promise that he would not keep himself away from Bilbo because of what had happened. It was enough, for now. But Thorin did not linger. He did not touch or kiss Bilbo, would not even stand too close. His mind had been traumatized by the madness and then by the knowledge of what he'd been driven to. Recovery would not be easy.

Thorin had gone off to help Dori, Nori and Bifur with crashing through the wall they had built only the night before. He seemed better in that element, in motion. Bilbo realised that he needed to do right now, he needed to use his hands and his wit to try and make up for his actions over the last few days. He needed to clear his head.

Bilbo wandered further in the mountain, heading in toward the main food storage area, which Thorin had directed him to. They had a lot of work to do before morning. Hopefully, they'd be able to get some sleep.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, some had been a good estimation of the sleep they would get. The Company had laboured long into the night, pulling all of their finds together and then working in unison to pitch a camp on a large, flat expanse to the west side of the ruined gates. There was less rubble there, and it was reasonably protected from the wind.

The groups had been mostly successful, they had located a fair amount of stored linens and camping gear. They had recovered and erected several tents, enough for the family groups to claim one each, while another had been designated as a kitchen, with a few long tables and a large covered area outside the canvas walls, where Bombur had constructed a firepit for cooking. Thorin claimed another as a command centre, and, as it was the largest of them, had cordoned off a section for his cot. Bilbo knew he was intending to sleep alone, but there was no way he was going to let the stubborn Dwarf get away with that. Avoidance never solved anything, as far as Bilbo was concerned, though he could definitely see the appeal.

Cots had been found, of course, and plenty of blankets, towels and stored clothing had been unearthed. Fortunately Smaug had cared little for any part of the mountain that did not contain gold. He had made a mess of the throne room, but Thorin hardly cared about that. Bofur and Bombur had not been as successful with the food, but the provisions they had acquired in Laketown suited their needs respectably, and the kitchen was outfitted well enough for now.

All in all, the night had been a success. The Company had finally gone to their beds only a few hours before dawn, and Bilbo, in a moment of self sacrifice, had volunteered to take the first watch. He had squashed all the arguments by pointing out that he had done little in the way of physical work, compared to the others, and by agreeing to let Dwalin take over from him in two hours.

Which left him with only two hours of sleep, but it was the best two hours he had managed since they'd entered the mountain. He had slipped into Thorin's tent, never intending to sleep anywhere else, and had found the Dwarf in question sleeping a fitful sleep indeed. He had been tossing and turning, his blankets twisted around him, and Bilbo felt certain that he was only asleep at all because he had worked himself into a state of complete exhaustion.

Bilbo had manged to tug the blanket straight again and had tucked himself in, pressed against Thorin's side. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how much he had missed this. While they were in the mountain Thorin slept rarely, and then in very short snatches. Bilbo hadn't managed much better, and they had never slept at the same time.

Already it was like the time in the mountain had been part of a fuzzy nightmare, one that they had all finally woken up from. All except Thorin. His madness had passed, but he still seemed to be living there, his face whenever Bilbo had managed to catch a glimpse in the lantern light had been strained and ashen.

When Bilbo awoke, he was alone in the tent. Light was only just beginning to filter through the canvas, which meant that dawn was fast approaching. Bilbo scrambled up, rubbing a dirty hand over his tired eyes, trying to perk himself up. He swallowed a few gulps of water from the skin that was lying nearby, though he had only just managed to eat a few pieces of stale bread when there was shouting from outside the tent.

He ran out and met the others, to find that Thranduil and Bard were approaching, the Elven Army on their heels. They both looked rather surprised to find a Dwarvish camp outside of Erebor, the short lived wall in pieces all over the ground, and Thorin awaiting them, looking proud but subdued. Bilbo slipped though the others, all of them standing aside to let him pass, until he reached Thorin's side, giving his hand a quick squeeze and then letting go, just to let him know that he was not alone.

“This is a surprise!” Bard said from the back of his horse, his face showing his amazement. Thranduil's face gave away nothing.

“I imagine so,” Thorin said, taking a step closer and gesturing with his hands at all that had changed in the night. “As you can see, we were very busy during the night. I admit, my perspective has changed somewhat. I wish to speak with you both about our predicament, and I would rather do it face to face, but if you choose to remain mounted, I will not begrudge you that.”

“Considering your behaviour in the several last days, you can understand our unwillingness to dismount,” Thranduil said coolly, sitting firm upon his ostentatious elk.

“Stay up there if you want,” Bard said, shaking his head at his companion. “If you cannot tell from the destruction of the wall and the camp outside the mountain that things have changed since yesterday, then I cannot help you.” He dismounted smoothly, handing the reins of his horse to a page who had been standing behind Thranduil. “I thought Elves were supposed to be observant,” he added with a smirk as he approached Thorin.

“It is good to see you looking well again, Thorin,” Bard said. “I had truly feared for the worst, considering our discussion yesterday.”

“Had things remained the same, perhaps your fear would be justified,” Thorin replied. “But much has changed in the last day, and all of it for the better.”

“I admit,” came another voice from within the ranks of the Elven archers, booming loudly, as if by magic. “That I was fearful myself at what would befall us all this day, having heard the tale of your last conversation.” The archers stepped aside fluidly, parting to allow Gandalf to come forth, his face as lined as ever, but clearly expressing his relief at finding Thorin outside the mountain instead of holed up within.

“I had feared for you, my friend,” Gandalf admitted as he approached Thorin and Bard, removing his hat and bowing slightly to Thorin, who nodded back. “But I see my fears have been misplaced.”

“Indeed, they were not,” Thorin admitted. “Until yesterday, I was caught fast in the grip of the dragon sickness, and my actions were unpardonable. Many things happened in those days that I regret, none more than...well, it's passed.”

“I am joyful to find it so,” Gandalf said. “But how? I do not know of anyone throwing off the madness without magical aid, and even then, only over a long stretch of time.”

Thorin lowered his head, breathing deeply for a moment before finding the strength to answer. “I am sad to say it was not by my will that it was accomplished. Had it been left to me, I fear that I never would have emerged, from the sickness or the mountain. Fortunately, I was wise enough to accept your council at the start of this journey, and agreed to the addition of your burglar into our Company.”

Thorin turned to look at Bilbo then, his face solemn, but his eyes shining with pride and affection. Bilbo flushed and looked away, caught under the regard of all those present.

“If it had not been for Bilbo Baggins, none of us would be here now. We would not have lived to cross the Misty Mountains, or we would still be trapped within the prison cells of the Woodland Realm,” Thorin said wryly.

At this, Thranduil had the grace to look abashed, particularly when Gandalf turned his regard toward the Elven King.

“Indeed,” he said, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Thorin.

“Without Bilbo we would not have survived, that is certain. And I owe him another debt, one I can never repay,” Thorin's words were strained and heavy, he was no doubt thinking of their disastrous encounter the previous morn, and Bilbo wished he could move closer, to grip Thorin's hand in his, or lean on him to show his support, but with all eyes on him, he did not think it would be appropriate. Thorin must stand on his own in this at least.

“Bilbo pulled you from the madness?” Gandalf asked, astounded, his eyes fixing on Bilbo, seeming to look through him in his appraisal.

“He knocked some sense into me,” Thorin said, tenderly rubbing the bruise that had blossomed on his temple. Bilbo had a matching bruise on his heel, though he felt the pain was every bit worth the result.

“Literally,” Dwalin added with a smirk, earning a well positioned elbow in the ribs from his older brother.

“Well, however it happened, I am relieved that it has,” Gandalf said. “But we have much to discuss. I have ill tidings that must be heard, and preparations must be made.”

“First I would like to make reparations to the people of Laketown for their assistance, as well as for my refusal to honour our bargain at our last meeting.” Thorin held out a hand, a contract promptly placed within by Ori, who had scuttled forward at need. Thorin turned to Bard.

“I wish to fulfil my promise to your people, by providing the gold to buy them food and supplies to last the winter, as well as obtaining all the supplies needed to rebuild the cities of Dale and Esgaroth. I have realised that, without working together in friendship and trust, none of our cities will thrive in the future. There is gold enough in the mountain for all of these tasks and a great many more.”

“That's...more than I expected,” Bard admitted, moving forward to take the contract from Thorin's outstretched hand.

“Yes, perhaps it is. However, I believe that it is fair recompense for all that the Men of Dale and Esgaroth have suffered at the behest of Smaug. It was my grandfather's obscene lust for gold that saw him collecting the hoard, and therefore, his fault that the dragon was tempted hence. Now, perhaps we can put that behind us and move forward, rebuilding all that was broken.”

“A great portion of the treasure will be needed to accomplish these things,” Gandalf said, watching Thorin carefully. “Are you certain you are willing to part with it?” He seemed to be testing Thorin, but Bilbo was certain that such a test was not needed. The madness was truly gone.

“Eagerly,” Thorin admitted. “Not only will it rebuild the lives of everyone involved, increasing trade once more, and bringing in new people from across Middle Earth, but it will diminish the hoard in such a way that none will dare attempt to capture it again. Erebor will always be a wealthy kingdom, if it houses a thriving community of Dwarves, in concert with the Men and Elves of surrounding kingdoms. But I would never again see it so wealthy with gold and so poverty stricken with life, as it was when we arrived.”

“Wise words,” Bard agreed. “We will gladly accept your offer, once I have read this through.” He held up the contract.

“If you have any questions or need any clarification, please talk to Balin,” Thorin gestured to his adviser, who bowed at Bard with a grin, a pleased twinkle in his eye.

“I will.” Bard tucked the contract into the inner pocket of his jacket, much to Bilbo's relief. One obstacle was down, but there were still several in the way.

“My Lord Thranduil,” Thorin spoke, turning to the Elf, who still sat atop his elk, glaring down at the others in consternation. If Thorin's voice held a bitter edge, no one commented on it. “I wish to come to terms with your kingdom as well.”

Thranduil sat motionless for several long moments, before dismounting and approaching the party slowly, moving as if he was on a rail.

“I am listening,” he said stiffly.

Bilbo could have sworn he heard Thorin's teeth grinding, but he gave no indication of such.

“The Woodland Realm is in a position to be vitally necessary to our survival this winter,” Thorin began. “Having the supplies and foodstuffs that are needed to maintain us, although I am expecting much to be procured from my cousin in the Iron Hills, also. Still, your realm is in a position to gain much from re-establishing trade with Dale and Erebor.”

“Go on,” Thranduil said, his chin lifting, making Bilbo wanted to smack him down a few feet.

“In return for your assistance, we will compensate you fairly, even generously, for everything you can provide.” Thorin held out his hand again, and Ori pressed another contract into it immediately. Bilbo wondered idly if Balin and Ori had slept at all the previous night.

Thranduil sniffed as he took the contract, handing it back to a waiting page, who tucked it away quickly. “There is another matter I wish to negotiate,” Thranduil began, but Thorin interrupted him.

“We will, of course, return the White Gems of Lasgalen to you, as a gesture of goodwill, and as the first step in rebuilding friendships between our two people.”

Bilbo looked beside him, certain that Dwalin was grinding his teeth this time, and then noticing from the corner of his eye Kili's barely restrained glee at the idea. Clearly there was a story to tell there, and Bilbo resolved to digging it out of him at the first opportunity.

Thranduil was surprised, shocked even, and the sight of his blank face and wide eyes made Bilbo chuckle, straining hard to keep the amusement from his face, though if Fili's answering smirk was any indication, he was not successful.

“Thank you,” Thranduil replied. “That is...most generous. I will attend to the contract immediately, and advise you as to any necessary changes.”

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo could barely restrain a grin of happiness, as it seemed that things were going to be resolved without bloodshed, after all. He snuck a quick look at Gandalf, who had been silent through the proceedings, watching avidly the interactions between Thorin and the others.

“However, before I will allow one piece of gold or gem to leave the mountain, there is another matter that must be attended to.”

Bard and Thranduil looked alarmed and wary, while Gandalf's eyes narrowed.

“What is that?” Bard asked, arms now crossed over his chest as he regarded Thorin.

“That treasure has been under the brood of a dragon for well over a hundred years. I do not know how much of the magic was to blame for my...affliction, and how much was my own weakness, but I will not take the chance of it harming any other being. My mind under the sway of the gold sickness was...troubled, and I have no wish to see such trouble befall any other. Gandalf,” he said, turning to the wizard hopefully.

“I must ask your assistance in this matter. I have hope that you will be able to lift the sickness that lies over the gold, to release it from the evil of the dragon, allowing us to use it for the purpose that it should have been used. To rebuild and maintain our kingdoms.”

“I think that would be very wise,” Gandalf replied. “I will set my mind to it at first opportunity. However, I have news for all of you, and it is not good.”

The others shared a look, as Gandalf heaved a great sigh, looking suddenly very weary. “I have tidings of an Orc army.” There were gasps and looks of alarm at this, but Gandalf ignored them and continued. “It is on its way, and will likely arrive today, or tomorrow at the very latest. I am pleased beyond measure that you have taken such great steps at reestablishing your friendships, but now you must turn your focus to defending yourselves against a very great evil.”

“An Orc army?” Thorin asked harshly. “How many? How far off are they?”

“Many thousands at least,” Gandalf replied. “And their arrival is imminent.”

“My legions have not the numbers to defend against such a foe, Gandalf. And the Men of Laketown, while hardy and brave, are poorly fed and even more poorly trained. I fear such a battle will become a rout.” Thranduil was showing slight signs of concern on his face, and Bilbo wondered just what it would take for that mask to crack.

“Thank Mahal for Dain,” Thorin said, looking between the other three. “My cousin and his army are due to arrive anytime, having set out from the Iron Hills not long ago. I had thought I would need their support to withstand the Elves, but...” he broke off, looking stern but also a bit ashamed. “At any rate, I would much rather have them destroy the Orcs.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf said. “We have much to plan, and our time is short. We cannot delay.”

And with that, Thorin led the four of them to his tent, nodding at Balin and Dwalin to follow, barking orders at the rest to gather their weapons and armour, to eat and take any time the could to rest before the Orcs arrived and the battle began. Bilbo was left in the dust, at a loss as to what he should do, so he scampered after the Dwarves, to pitch in wherever he might be needed.

 

* * *

 

It was shortly after the afternoon meal that Dain arrived. There was a tense moment as his Dwarves lined up opposite the still ready Elven army, but it was soon extinguished by Thorin, who greeted his cousin eagerly, explaining the situation quickly. Dain immediately joined the others in the war tent, as it was now being called, a title which made Bilbo roll his eyes. He had joined Oin during the morning and was helping to stock the largest tent that they had found and set up, with clean linens and any medical supplies they could get their hands on. The camp was a flurry of activity, and suddenly, it was filled with a multitude of Dwarves as some of Dain's men began helping in the preparations, the others filing up in ranks to await the oncoming horde.

“Bilbo,” Ori called out, ducking into the large medical tent, his eyes darting about until they fell on Bilbo. “Thorin is asking for you, come quick. The Elven scouts have sighted the Orcs, they will be here within the hour.”

Bilbo nodded to Oin, who waved his hand and turned back to his work, intent on having everything he needed at hand before taking himself off to the battlefield. Among the Dwarves, no one was untrained in the art of fighting, if only for purposes of defence. Bilbo was still baffled by such an upbringing, but then, he had been raised in the quiet peace and tranquillity of the Shire.

He followed Ori to the war tent, to see that the hastily formed council was leaving, moving to their positions, to finish their preparations. Gandalf sat on a stool nearby, taking long draws off his pipe. Bilbo smiled at him as he passed, and Gandalf winked at him in return. Bilbo shook his head. Wizards were impossible to understand.

Ori left him at the door of the tent, giving him a smile before leaving, no doubt to find his brothers and wait with them. Bilbo watched him go before turning to the tent, taking a deep breath before slipping through the flap in search of Thorin.

He did not have far to look, although Thorin was not in the main area, where a table was spread with the remains of food and maps of the area, some of them frayed and falling apart from age and disuse. Bilbo slipped through the drape that separated Thorin's cot from the rest of the tent, unsurprised to find him there, fastening the last of his armour, forgoing his heavy fur coat for the sake of mobility.

“You wanted to see me?” Bilbo asked, meeting Thorin's eyes and smiling. The blue of Thorin's gaze was still guarded, but his eyes were warm and pleased to see Bilbo, a fact that made his apprehension ease whenever he looked into Thorin's face and found it clear of madness. Thorin had been taken over by the dragon sickness so completely, and for a time Bilbo had begun to despair that he would ever see Thorin's eyes clear again. Every time he did, every time he saw Thorin's eyes clear and affectionate once more, he felt the same crushing relief.

“Bilbo, yes,” Thorin said, his eyes showing his pleasure at Bilbo's presence, though his body language spoke of the hesitation and regret that still plagued him. “We have uncovered something in the armoury that I would have you wear.”

“I can't wear Dwarf armour, Thorin,” Bilbo said. The idea was laughable. “It would be much too heavy, and too large, besides.”

“But this was not made with a Dwarf in mind,” Thorin replied, picking up a shimmery, silver shirt from the bed and holding it out to Bilbo. “It was fashioned for a much slighter person, in fact, an Elfling. I am sure it will fit you well.”

“It's still armour, Thorin, and much too heavy for me.”

“Indeed, it isn't,” Thorin said, shaking his head. “It is made of mithril, silver steel, stronger than any metal yet discovered in Middle Earth. It is as light as feathers and as hard as dragon scales. You will not notice its weight, and yet it will turn any blade that may strike you.”

“Really?” Bilbo moved forward, reaching out to touch the material, which was all but transparent. “It's beautiful.”

“It is, yes,” Thorin agreed. “Put it on, quickly, we are running out of time.” Bilbo nodded, undoing his coat with nimble fingers, while Thorin help up the mail for him.

“I would rather have you far from the battle, amralime,” he said quietly, his eyes averted from Bilbo's body as he removed his coat. “But I know you well enough to know that you could not abide standing by, hiding for your own safety while others put their lives on the line.”

“No, I couldn't do that, Thorin,” Bilbo said. Slipping his hands into the shirt and letting it fall over him. It was light, weighing no more than the cotton shirt he wore beneath it. “But I still look ridiculous in this.”

“I do not care how you look,” Thorin said firmly. “I care only that you are well protected.” He stopped to admire Bilbo as he picked up his coat, fastening it over the mail shirt. “But I find the sight of you in Dwarven made mail to be quite beautiful. And knowing you are as protected as I can make you will ease my mind.”

“Thank you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, still feeling awkward, but willing to do what he could to set Thorin at ease.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, moving closer, laying his hands on Bilbo's shoulders, touching him willingly for the first time since he'd regained his senses. He looked deep into Bilbo's eyes, letting his head drop to meet Bilbo's gently, breathing deeply of the air between them before pulling back. “Please, do not put yourself in more danger than you can avoid if necessary. You have a broad streak of recklessness in you, but I would see you safe through this battle. Promise me you will not endanger yourself needlessly.” His eyes were intense and sincere, and Bilbo could not tear himself away.

“I won't, Thorin, I promise.” He smiled softly, hoping to soothe Thorin's fears, but determined to add his own condition. “But I will not withhold myself from danger, if someone I care about is in need of help. I couldn't, do you understand?”

Thorin nodded, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, fear and resignation filling them, but his face was soft, his worry and love written all over it. He leaned forward hesitantly and kissed Bilbo, soft and lingering, and his heart soared with joy at the touch. Thorin had avoided him over the past day and before that he was unbearable to be around, so to have him so close now, willingly, it gave Bilbo hope that he would heal completely in time.

Soon they would be called to the battlefield, and things would happen that they could not predict, no matter how prepared they were. Bilbo prayed, to Yavanna, to Mahal, to Eru himself, that they would bring him through the coming day. That all those he loved would survive, that they would come out on the other side, whole and healthy.

Even he knew that it was too much to ask.


	19. War Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Five Armies. Or, how the Durins get out alive.

Bilbo awoke with the most crushing headache he had ever had in his entire life. Before he could even open his eyes, he was wondering just what kind of ale they'd been serving at the Green Dragon the night before. Then his body registered freezing stone beneath him, and he realised that he was outside. In winter.

'What am I doing falling asleep outside?' he thought to himself, and that was when the noise filtered into his mind, the shrieks of the Eagles and Bats, the yells of pain and triumph, the harsh clanging of steel, the wet moans of the wounded and dying.

He was on Ravenhill. The battle was still raging below him, but where was Thorin? Bilbo had warned him about the trap, but it had been too late...too late to save Fili, and the nausea of concussion in his stomach roared to life when the memory came. The memory of the golden prince, the Dwarf with the brightest smile Bilbo had ever seen, the memory of Azog holding him high, stabbing him and throwing him off the tower like so much refuse.

He'd turned then, pulling Sting out of the scabbard, his legs shaky and his head spinning. Then came the bats and then Orcs, and then...then Dwalin, from out of nowhere calling at him to duck, taking out Orc after Orc with his massive axe. He'd thrown stones and then. Then what?

He must have fallen, he'd hit his head. He cracked his eyes open, blinking in the harsh light, pushing himself up off the ground. He seemed to be all right, he did not feel blood anywhere, his limbs were moving, however slowly. He pushed them harder, standing even as his eyes regained their focus, taking in the area around him. There were no more Orcs, but there were sounds of a fight, coming from...there.

Thorin was below him, on the frozen river, locked in a battle to the death with Azog. Azog, who was above him, slashing wildly at Thorin, who was only just managing to avoid the blows. Bilbo ran, slipping the ring on as he went, knowing instinctively that if Azog saw him, he would probably die.

He was so close, so close, but there was Azog, his massive blade poised over Thorin's chest, held up only by Thorin's grip on his sword, a sword Bilbo recognized but did not have time to ponder further. Thorin was losing, Bilbo could see the muscles of his arms shaking as he neared, he knew that he only had seconds left to help. Seconds before it would be too late.

He slid past them, the ice slippery under his feet, drawing near at last, as Azog's blade brushed Thorin's chest. He screamed his fear and rage, stabbing Sting as deep into Azog's side as he could. Azog's scream of rage brought a fresh flood of pain roaring though Bilbo's head, but it had been enough. Azog had pulled back, releasing the pressure on Thorin's sword, which had spun through the air, stabbing up and through Azog's armour, which was clearly no match for an Elven forged blade such as Orcrist.

Bilbo pulled the ring off, watching stunned as Azog fell to the side, dead, but Thorin rose up, still alive, a slash across his forehead but his chest intact.

“Bilbo!” he breathed, his chest rising and falling in harsh pants as the adrenaline faded.

“I'm here, I'm fine,” Bilbo said, slumping back on the ice as his head throbbed anew.

“You came out of nowhere,” Thorin said, looking him over with wide eyes. “You saved my life. I thought the only way to kill him was to let him stab me.”

“I know, I...I could almost see the wheels in your mind turning.” Bilbo said with a wry grin, all the events of the last few moments catching up with him suddenly.

Thorin knelt before him, taking his aching head in cold, filthy hands and kissing him, hungrily, desperately, holding him close. When Thorin released him at last they rose to their feet, Thorin pulling both swords out of the corpse beside them, handing Sting to Bilbo as he stared in wonder at Orcrist.

“Where did that come from?” Bilbo asked. “I thought the Elves had it.”

“They did,” Thorin said. “But then, there it was, embedded in the Orc that stood above me, at the edge of the falls. I'd lost my sword, there was no way I would have survived if it weren't for...it was the Elf prince. Thranduil's son.”

“Really?”

“I saw him below me, as I got up, but then Azog was there...”

“Yes,” Bilbo said, stunned at Thorin's good fortune. He would have to remember to thank the Elf when he saw him. After the battle.

The stood over the battlefield, the entire scene spread beneath them. They could see the ebb and flow of the battle, and Bilbo wondered honestly if this was it, if they were going to lose, but then the tide turned and the Orcs were washed away, the bats fleeing under the onslaught of the Eagles and there...

“Look!” Bilbo exclaimed, wincing anew at the pain in his head. “It's Beorn!”

“He's spectacular,” Thorin agreed. “All the more when he's not chasing us!”

Bilbo couldn't help a chuckle, but then the reality of the situation crashed down on him, even as it sank into Thorin's mind.

“We need to find Kili,” Thorin said. “Now.”

“He'll be on the tower, the one...”

“I know,” Thorin said grimly, turning and running, and Bilbo hoped they were fast enough, that they would find Kili alive, though Bilbo's hope for Fili had all but been extinguished. He followed Thorin, determined to do what he could, Sting in his hand and a renewed fire in his eyes.

Thorin was alive.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Kili was alive as well. The Elf Captain, Tauriel, had followed him up onto Ravenhill, joining him in battle with Bolg, spawn of Azog. It had been a very close thing, Bilbo had learned later, but in the end, Bolg had tumbled off the cliff, and had met his demise under the knife of Legolas, which Bilbo learned was the name of the Elf prince who had saved Thorin's life.

The battle was not without cost, however, as it appeared that Kili had a broken arm and a deep wound across his leg, which had been bleeding freely when Thorin and Bilbo had arrived.

Dwalin and Balin had found them then, and in a flurry of activity, Dwalin had carried Kili back down to the gates of the mountain, where the healing tents were no doubt doing a brisk business. Tauriel went with them, and Bilbo followed, but as he reached the base of the tower a shout was torn through him, the memory of Fili falling crashing into his mind, and he turned and ran to the place where he knew that Fili lay, a shard of hope bursting inside him. It was hopeless, it had to be hopeless, and there he was, a pool of blood spreading out from his body as he lay slumped on his side at the base of a snowdrift.

“He's here!” Bilbo yelled, with no idea to whom he was calling, to whomever had followed, he supposed. Suddenly, from a door on the other side of the tower came Thranduil, his armour splattered with the blood of many Orcs, though he was hardly mussed otherwise.

He reached Fili at the same time that Bilbo did, reaching out immediately to feel his neck, no doubt checking for the pulse that Bilbo was certain would not be there. He felt the others come up behind him, Balin choking out a sob as Thranduil looked up, his eyes wide.

“He's alive,” he said quietly, his hands running across Fili's prone form, feeling for his injuries were, if Bilbo's guess was correct. He felt Thorin's presence beside him, a strong hand grasping his shoulder, for Bilbo's support or Thorin's, he wasn't sure.

“How is he alive?” Bilbo asked, his stomach in his throat as Thranduil turned Fili over gently onto his stomach, feeling across his back, finding the split mail over the oozing wound there.

“This wound is deep, but not fatal. He has lost a lot of blood, if the snow is any indication, but he is not beyond help.” Thranduil ripped a piece of cloth from his own robes, padding it up to put pressure on the wound, before turning Fili again, just as gently, onto his back.

“We'll need a litter for him, he cannot be carried as his brother was,” Thranduil said, looking up at the shocked Dwarves who had gathered behind them. “Send the fastest runner, he'll need to get off this ice soon, he is so cold as to be hypothermic. The cold may have slowed his bleeding, which has no doubt saved his life, but he will need to be warmed up quickly. The freeze could still take him if we are not swift.”

Nori hadn't even waited for Thranduil to finish speaking, turning and running for the stairs as fast as he could go.

“He fell,” Thorin said, falling to his knees beside Bilbo, the hand that was not squeezing Bilbo's shoulder as if it was a lifeline reached out hesitantly to touch Fili's cheek. “He fell so far, from the tower. How could he have survived?”

“The snow broke his fall. I think he's shattered his arm, and his shoulder is most certainly dislocated. He has several broken ribs, and I would not be surprised if he has been concussed as well, although his low body temperature may be the reason he is unconscious still.” Thranduil looked up at Thorin, his eyes clear and earnest. “He may be bleeding inside. I will not lie, he is gravely injured, but there is hope for your heir, Thorin Oakenshield. If you allow me to heal him.”

“Yes,” Thorin cried, without hesitation. “Yes, please, whatever you can do.” He looked from Thranduil to Fili with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Here on this ice, there is not much that can be done,” Thranduil admitted. “But I can try to heal his insides, and dull his pain.”

“Anything,” Thorin agreed, and Bilbo was surprised at how readily Thorin trusted Thranduil with the life of his nephew. Then again, they had come to terms before the battle, they had fought together, and Thorin was, quite frankly, desperate.

Thranduil set to chanting, the words slipping out of his mouth in a long, unbroken string, words that Bilbo did not understand, a language that was no doubt older and less well known than the Sindarin that was commonly spoken among the Elves of Middle Earth. Bilbo knew some Sindarin, but this, this was beyond him.

“Quenya,” Bilbo whispered, certain that he was correct. It was no doubt the ancient language of the High Elves, the Noldor, and as Thranduil chanted he began to glow, the light that surrounded him and then Fili was almost too bright to look at, but Bilbo could not tear his eyes away.

Then it was over, and Thranduil was using more strips of fabric to secure Fili's arm to his side. Fili groaned in pain when his shattered arm was lifted to make way for the sling, and Bilbo let out a rush of breath, even as Thorin cried out beside him, leaning down and pressing his head to Fili's gently, whispering frantic words in Khuzdul, his tears slipping from his eyes to land on Fili's face.

Then the litter arrived, and from there everything became a blur. Bilbo walked down to the main field, leaning heavily on Balin, though he could not remember when the Dwarf had reached out and gripped his arm. He must have stumbled, though he couldn't be sure.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo sat down on the cot in the silence of their tent as day faded into night, the light of the lantern hanging from a support beam casting shadows in the room as Thorin entered carefully, a jug of warm water and a basin in his hands. The basin was filled with linen, soap, a sachet of herbs, and a topical salve that Oin had insisted he apply to Bilbo's head wound.

His nephews were safe. Kili was awake, his arm in a splint and his leg stitched neatly. He was no doubt smiling besottedly at the red headed Elf who had followed him, from Mirkwood to Laketown, up to Ravenhill and down it again, refusing to leave his side. Thorin would have liked to grumble more at the very idea of his nephew in love with an Elf, but when that Elf had saved his life so many times, and had shown her very good taste in loving him back, well, Thorin couldn't bring himself to begrudge such a gift to Kili.

It seemed that Mahal had known what he was doing, in sending a One for Kili who had the skill and tenacity to protect him from his incurable recklessness.

Fili, meanwhile, was out of danger, his body temperature had steadily increased and the wound in his back had been repaired without issue. His arm was as stable as Thranduil could make it, his shoulder relocated in its socket. Fili had screamed when it had been pulled back into place, but he had not yet woken. Thorin was worried about him, but Oin and Thranduil had both assured him that nothing more was to be done, and that when Fili woke, he would make a full recovery. He may never regain the fill strength of his arm, but he would be able to use it to its full capability.

He just needed to wake up. Thorin pushed his worry aside, knowing that nothing he did would change the outcome. Everything that could be done for Fili was being done.

Thorin whispered yet another prayer to Mahal that he had brought them safely through the day. There had been so many close calls, so many moments when one or all of them might have fallen, but the line of Durin had prevailed.

The hardest part to face was the fact that he owed the lives of both his nephews, and his own life, to Elves. Mirkwood Elves. Fili's life had been spared by none other than Thranduil himself. His life had been saved by Thranduil's son, Legolas. Only the knowledge that his family was safe had taken the sting out of that blow.

“Bilbo?” he said gently, putting the basin on the crate that had been brought in and placed beside his cot.

Bilbo looked up at him, still looking as stunned as he had been when they'd come down from the hill.

“How are you feeling?” Thorin asked him, concerned. He had a rather large bump on his forehead, and a smaller one on the back of his head. It appeared he had been hit, knocked back, and had cracked his head on a rock when he'd fallen.

“I'm all right,” he replied, smiling weakly at Thorin, who could tell that he wasn't as all right as he'd asserted. “My head hurts, and I'm a little foggy, I'm afraid. Shock, I think.”

“You've been in many fights along the way, Bilbo, but this was your first proper battle,” Thorin said as he worked, pouring water into the now empty basin, adding some of the herbs Oin had given him before wetting a cloth, using it to wipe the blood away from Bilbo's face.

The slice across Thorin's head had been stitched up swiftly, but he had sustained no other injuries, and Oin had insisted that Bilbo would be fine, commanding Thorin to take him someplace quiet and clean him up.

So Thorin had done just that, and Bilbo had gone along without protesting.

“Okay, now strip,” Thorin said, once he'd cleaned all the blood from Bilbo's face and slathered some salve across the gash on his head.

“Oh, of course,” Bilbo said, and Thorin helped him divest himself of his torn and bloodied jacket, lifting the precious mithril shirt over his head before pulling at his buttons insistently.

“If this is your way of telling me you want me naked, you could have just asked,” Bilbo said with a smirk, some of his humour returning as the herbs and salve went to work.

Thorin chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Bilbo was coming back to himself, and Thorin felt like he was too. All the madness of the previous days had been left behind, and his fear that it might return had dissipated, his doubts washed away in the flood of battle.

“I'll only take you to bed if you wish it,” he said, allowing himself the pleasure of trailing his fingers across Bilbo's cheek and then down, back over his collarbone.

“I wish it,” Bilbo said, standing up and tugging at the fresh tunic that Oin had forced on him, which Thorin had taken with pleasure.

“Are you certain?” Thorin asked carefully, his hands trailing upwards once more, to cup Bilbo's cheeks carefully, his cock filling at the thought of Bilbo's hands on his skin once more. It had been too long, and there were far too many bad memories between them that must be banished. “Oin said only that you must not go to sleep just yet.”

“I'm asking, Thorin. Keep me awake,” Bilbo's eyes were clear and earnest, and Thorin could no longer resist him. He leaned down and took Bilbo's mouth with his, slipping his tongue past Bilbo's slack lips to taste him for the first time in a week. Perhaps it had not been that long in the grand scheme of things, but to Thorin it felt like a lifetime ago. They had been through so much since then, that he almost didn’t know where to begin.

Fortunately, his hands knew what they were doing. They fell from Bilbo's face and onto his shoulders, tracing lines down Bilbo's chest and across his belly, which had shrunk during their travels, going from a soft plumpness to a flat, muscled expanse. Thorin liked him both ways, though he wished the lack of food and the constant exercise hadn't been necessary.

But Bilbo would be going home soon, and once in the Shire he would no doubt regain the softness that had so enthralled Thorin during their first encounter. Bilbo's hands slid under his tunic, bunching it up as he pushed it up, over Thorin's navel and his chest, and Thorin lifted his hands, pulling it off the rest of the way, shivering at the feeling of Bilbo's warm hands on his skin.

Bilbo tugged him down for another kiss, and Thorin went eagerly, his hands moving by instinct, making quick work of Bilbo's trousers, letting them fall to the floor of the tent along with his underclothes. A wisp of chill air told him that Bilbo had been just as successful with his trousers, and suddenly they were both naked, with Bilbo pressed flush against him, their cocks brushing and rubbing between their bodies.

Thorin bent his legs, sliding until he was kneeling on the floor, pressing kisses and sucking bites onto Bilbo's skin, lavishing him with all the care he could manage, sliding his mouth down until Bilbo's cock bumped his chin.

“Thorin, ahhh...” Bilbo's legs were shaky, so Thorin grasped his hips, pushing them back until he sat on the cot and then fell back onto it, the shift of position making Bilbo's cock scrape across Thorin's chin and cheek before bobbing onto his stomach. Thorin bent down further, letting his tongue and lips play over the tender skin underneath before sucking at Bilbo's sac, the skin velvet under his tongue as he pushed at the globes inside.

Bilbo's hands fell heavily onto his head, his fingers grasping and clenching but not finding any purchase in the slippery strands of Thorin's hair. He nosed the sack up, sucking more firmly on the patch below it, thinking about going further, but deciding against it. That path led to things that were better done at a later time, a time when Bilbo was not potentially concussed, when the battle was further from their minds, and sights and smells cleansed from their bodies completely.

A sharp tug on his hair had Thorin sitting up, swiping his tongue up Bilbo's cock from root to tip before taking the head in his mouth, letting his tongue play with the underside as he slid down, drawing in as much of Bilbo as he could.

Bilbo's shaky groan was a thrill. Thorin hadn't realised how much he had missed these sounds, his time under the thrall of the gold had dulled his senses, everything had been foggy and hazy, sounds muted and sights darkened. Only the glint of the gold had retained any warmth, any light.

It was like he'd come alive again. The battle had come so swiftly on the heels of his awakening that he hadn't really had time to understand the change, to comprehend that the world was once again bright and vivid, all that the gold had dulled was made new once more.

He bobbed his head, working as much saliva as he could around the shaft in his mouth, surrounding Bilbo in a wet, sucking heat, working with flicks of his tongue to draw Bilbo's climax from him.

It arrived quickly. Bilbo tugged on his hair again and came with a shout, painting the inside of Thorin's mouth with salty release.

Thorin groaned at the sharpness of him, the taste of Bilbo heavy on his tongue as he continued his ministrations, more gently now, with as much loving tenderness as he could provide, knowing well that Bilbo was extra sensitive in the aftermath. The familiarity of Bilbo's responses made an ache rise up inside him. This kind of intimacy was better than anything else, worth everything that Thorin had to give. It was more intense and all consuming than Thorin could ever have imagined before Bilbo had come into his life.

He let go at last, letting Bilbo's softened cock fall from his reddened lips reluctantly, kissing his way back up over Bilbo's chest, stopping along the way to suck a suck a bruise onto his neck, before continuing and capturing Bilbo's soft lips, kissing him deeply as he frotted eagerly against Bilbo's thigh. He was patient though, they had the time and he knew that Bilbo would stir soon enough.

It wasn't long before he did, dragging his fingers up Thorin's arms only to push them down his chest to grasp his cock where it lay, hot and heavy on Bilbo’s belly.

“Up, up,” Bilbo urged, his hand insistent on Thorin's hips. The thought of Bilbo's hot mouth wrapped around him was all the inducement he needed to comply so he crawled upwards, letting his cock drag teasingly against Bilbo's chest and neck, watching with fascination as he left a wet smear on Bilbo's cheek. Bilbo's mouth had opened wide, his lips grasping along Thorin's shaft as he adjusted his position, letting the tip slide at last into Bilbo's waiting mouth. A groan was torn from his throat as the soft pad of Bilbo's tongue rolled around the sensitive head.

Then Bilbo took him down, pulling Thorin in with eager hands until he was pressed flush against the back of his lover's throat. He pulled back, his wide eyes taking in the sight of his shaft sliding out, pulling at Bilbo's lips before slipping back in, this time Bilbo pulled harder at him, his fingers digging into Thorin's cheeks, his eyes filled with a heated challenge, meeting Thorin's boldly.

Thorin let himself be pulled, Bilbo guiding him deeper until he was pushing against the back of Bilbo's throat and then even further, swallowing around the head of Thorin's cock as it slid down to the hilt, Bilbo's lips a brazen red around the base of his cock.

A ragged sound was wrenched form him, all the sensations pulling together into one overwhelming whole. His cock pulsed as he came down Bilbo's throat, the release stunning him with its force, leaving his limbs weak.

He pulled back, sensible of the vulnerable position of Bilbo below him, panting heavily, his cock twitching even as it slid from Bilbo's mouth. He fell to the side, his body limp as the after shocks of sensation shivered through him.

He let the quiet and the peace of having Bilbo beside him lull him into a light doze, and then he remembered Oin's instructions. Bilbo had hit his head hard, twice, and his foggy confusion after the adrenaline had worn off pointed to a possible concussion.

“Hey, no sleep just yet,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo a shake to wake him up.

“But I'm sleepy,” Bilbo murmured groggily.

“Yes, but you are likely concussed, and Oin said you had to stay awake for a few more hours yet.”

“If you want me to stay awake, you should not have given me a mind numbing orgasm.”

“Oh, I apologize,” Thorin said, smirking at Bilbo's sleepy, disgruntled face. That face was so very precious to him, and he wanted to soak up as much of it as possible. Then he noticed that Bilbo's eyes had slid shut again.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said. “Wake up.”

“Oh, come on,” Bilbo snapped with a frown. “It's been hours since I was knocked out.”

“I would rather not take any chances with your well being,” Thorin told him, sitting up on the bed and pulling Bilbo upright, positioning him between his legs, propping Bilbo's back against his chest.

He revelled in the smooth skin pressed against him, still amazed by how little hair was on it. From the mop on his head and the lush fur on his feet, one would assume that he would have more hair on the rest of his body, but it seemed that Hobbit hair was draw to the top and bottom of them. There was a smattering over Bilbo's chest, a light dusting on his arms and legs, and a small fuzzy thatch under each arm and between his legs. It was still a novelty, even after all the time they'd spent together.

He was pleased to see how few bruises marred Bilbo's skin. The head injury seemed to be the extent of Bilbo's injuries, and he whispered a prayer of thanks to the Creator for protecting his One that day.

“Talk to me, Bilbo,” he said, rubbing at Bilbo's skin roughly. Thorin was exhausted as well, but some things were more important than rest. He would endure. He would do anything that Bilbo needed.

Even let him go.

In truth, it was probably fine by now, Bilbo's exhaustion seemed genuine, unlike his earlier lethargy. And yet, he wanted to hold on to the moment for just a little bit longer. Now that the battle was over and the mountain was secure, he knew that their time was coming to an end.

“Tell me about the Shire,” Thorin encouraged. “I did not see much of it when we were there, though I admit, what I did see I found beautiful.” Hearing about the Shire would be painful for Thorin, but it would make Bilbo happy, and that was Thorin's greatest goal, in the end.

“It is beautiful,” Bilbo agreed. “I have seen many exceptional sights on this journey, and I do not regret a minute of it, but the Shire still fills my heart with longing. It's filled with rolling hills and little rivers. It's all fresh and so alive, the forests green and lush. Wide fields of grain and vegetables nestled into temperate valleys.”

“It sounds positively idyllic,” Thorin commented, letting his fingers trace across Bilbo's chest idly. “And very green.”

“Oh yeah, green is the main shade on the palate for sure, but there are bursts of colour everywhere. The trees blossom in the spring, pink, yellow, white, they're amazing. There are flowering bushes of every hue and vines that spread their colours like splashed of paint on canvas. There are flower meadows buzzing with bees, swathes of different colours, every colour of the rainbow. All of those colours are reflected in the paint on our doors, and they all blend into such a kaleidoscope of life, it just fills you up with contentment.”

“I understand the feeling,” Thorin said, thinking about the days past, when Erebor was still filled with life. “The memory of the Erebor of my youth burns inside me like an ember. No matter where the path has led me, I've always kept that close, knowing that one day, I would make my way back there.”

“And you did,” Bilbo said, his voice sleepy.

“Thanks to you,” Thorin said, smiling, although it was tinged with grief. Bilbo was falling asleep again, and this time, Thorin didn't have the heart to wake him. He wrapped his arms around Bilbo's torso, pressing his face into his neck, breathing him in. He let his love overcome him, even as the oncoming wave of grief threatened, hovering so near.

“All right,” he said at last, whispering the words into Bilbo's skin. “Let's sleep.”

“Finally,” Bilbo murmured, his head lolling against Thorin's chest. Thorin chuckled, shifting them to the side to tug the blanket out from under him, then shifting back, laying Bilbo's head on the pillow and snuggling close, wrapping the blanket around both of them.

This was one of Thorin's favourite things. Falling asleep with Bilbo warm and slack beside him, his chest moving with every deep, slumbering breath, his pulse slow and steady and thrumming through Thorin's veins with every beat of Bilbo's heart.

He wasn't sure what he was going to miss the most, but this feeling, the lack of it, this would always ache, on every night that he slept alone.


	20. Love is now Mingled with Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf is ready to leave, and so is Bilbo. He thinks.

In the end, it took Gandalf the better part of a week to clear the mountain of Smaug's magic.

He'd needed to rest for a few days before going in, his escape from Dol Guldur, which Bilbo had heard about after the fact, had seriously drained him. “It could have been done quicker,” Gandalf said, while smoking a pipe with Bilbo, having re-emerged from the mountain that afternoon. “But I needed to go slower, to make sure I hadn't missed anything. My perception is slightly dulled, as of late.”

“I'm glad you were able to clear the mountain, Gandalf,” Bilbo replied. “I won't worry about Thorin so much, now.”

“You're still meaning to head back to the Shire then, are you?” Gandalf asked, watching Bilbo carefully. He felt very small under Gandalf's gaze, not for the first time, either.

“Yes, of course,” Bilbo said cheerfully, wondering why Gandalf looked so sceptical.

“You'd not rather stay here, with Thorin?”

“No, I...” Bilbo looked up at Gandalf, with a raised brow, fixing him with a look of exasperation. “I care about Thorin a great deal, it's true. And our relationship has been...intense. And of a very, intimate nature, I admit. But I need to go home, Gandalf. It's an ache inside me that I can't displace.”

“Thorin cares for you very much, Bilbo. It will wound him when you leave.”

“I know,” Bilbo said quietly. “I know it will. I never meant for things to turn out this way, and I will always have a place in my heart for him, but...do you really think it could have worked out? If I decided to stay. He's the King under the Mountain and I am a Hobbit. I'm a realistic Hobbit, and the idea that he'll want me forever, when so many others will no doubt want to be with him, will pressure him to be a proper King and take a proper wife, well...it's ludicrous, Gandalf.”

“Do you really believe that, Bilbo?” Gandalf asked, his face showing his concern. “That Thorin could be so moved by the will of others?”

“Yes. Perhaps not. I don't know, Gandalf,” Bilbo admitted. “What I know is that I must go home, and I was hoping you'd go with me.”

“I will indeed, if that is your wish.” Gandalf assured him, which set Bilbo's mind at ease. He would go alone, if he had to, but having Gandalf beside him would make the whole thing that much easier. And safer.

“When would you like to depart?” Gandalf asked. “I would like to spend some time at rest, before taking another journey.”

“We can rest however long you need,” Bilbo said, hoping it wouldn't be too long. He knew they would likely be stopping over before crossing the Misty Mountains, likely with Beorn, but he wanted to make a start.

“Oh, I won't need that long,” Gandalf insisted. “One good day and night's sleep will do wonders. We can leave the day after tomorrow, if you like.”

“I...” Bilbo stuttered, surprised. For all his eagerness to go home, was surprised to find it was to be so soon. “That sounds fine,” he replied slowly.

“If you'd like to delay longer...” Gandalf began, but Bilbo cut him off.

“No, that's...it's fine, Gandalf. I'm ready to go home.” He sighed, looking up at the mountain, watching as Dwarves buzzed around like worker bees, clearing the area, inside and out, making preparations to repair the gates. And now, with Gandalf's assurances, they would move inside before long. Gloin and a team of Dwarves was already hard at work in the treasury, portioning out gold to purchase the needed food and supplies for Dale and Erebor, to bring them through the coming winter.

Thorin was also making plans to procure stone, iron, and wood, from their neighbouring kingdoms, Elves, Dwarves and Men. Of course, the mountain could provide stone, but until they had made a proper survey of the damage inflicted by Smaug, they didn't know how much or how soon they could provide it.

Thorin had gone so far as to offer the Men of Dale, formerly of Laketown, shelter within the mountain for the winter, if needed. The forges that Smaug had lit were still ablaze, though they would be shut down eventually, one by one, and completely repaired. First, they would repair the forges that remained cold, and light them instead. The mountain was going to be a hive of activity in the coming days, so Bilbo supposed that now was a good time. The Company would have much to occupy them. It was likely that they'd have little time for Bilbo at any rate. They would all be busy. Thorin especially. It was the right time, indeed.

The Shire was calling to him. It was time to go home.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo approached Thorin's tent, their tent, slowly. He'd left Gandalf several hours before, intending to find Thorin and break the news, but he'd found himself wandering about the camp aimlessly. He watched the Dwarves at work outside the gates, unwilling to enter the mountain again, despite knowing that the dragon's magic had been lifted. He'd wandered to Dale and back, watching the Men there working as hard as the Dwarves.

But he could put it off no longer. The supper hour had come, and missing a meal was too drastic a concept for Bilbo to stomach. There had been an influx of food from the Iron Hills, as well as from Mirkwood, so the fare would be better than Bilbo had become accustomed to.

Finally he could delay no longer.

He pushed aside the flap and went inside, nervous to be around Thorin for the first time since they'd settled their differences. Since before Rivendell, really. He was, of course, not counting every minute in which Thorin had been under the thrall of the gold. It was an unusual feeling for Bilbo, to say the least.

“There you are,” Thorin said happily. Gandalf's pronouncement had put Thorin in the most cheerful mood Bilbo had ever seen him in. Oh, he'd seen Thorin happy before, most particularly in bed. But now, Thorin was at last where he had fought so hard and long to be. His mountain was his once more, and it was free of evil magic. The gold had not taken him in the end, and his nephews were both alive, although Fili had yet to awaken.

“Yes, I'm here,” Bilbo said. “I went to Dale and lost track of time.”

“Well, I'm glad you're back. Come, supper is here, and much better than what we've had to suffer through lately.” He smiled broadly, the sight filling Bilbo with a rush of warmth. And a rush of desire. Thorin had always been the most strikingly attractive person Bilbo had ever seen, and when he smiled...well. Thorin was stunning.

Bilbo was going to miss him. In his bed and out.

“Well, that's something to look forward to.” Bilbo smiled back, sitting across the table from Thorin and serving himself some food, food that turned out to be quite excellent indeed. “Bombur has outdone himself,” he added, once he'd eaten his fill.

“He has indeed,” Thorin agreed. “His talents were wasted during our journey.”

Thorin had spent the meal telling Bilbo about his plans in the coming weeks, of the progress they had made in the mountain in just a few short hours. They would be moving inside soon, as soon as they could determine where was safe. Bilbo had shared in his joy eagerly, pleased beyond the telling of it that Thorin had at last come unto his own.

“I was just thinking,” Bilbo said, speaking before he'd thought.

“You're always thinking,” Thorin said with cheeky grin that made Bilbo's heart skip a beat. “What about this time?”

“The prophecy that was spoken of in Laketown. It truly has come to pass.”

“I suppose it has,” Thorin agreed.

“The lake did shine and burn. But I was thinking mostly of the part where the King Under the Mountain comes into his own. And I can see that you have.”

Thorin smiled widely, gesturing at all the paperwork piled up to the side of their now eaten dinner. “You think this is the peak of my kingship?”

“Perhaps not,” Bilbo admitted with a laugh. “But you are energized like this, Thorin. I wasn't sure how well you'd handle the organizational aspect of being King, but you've surprised me yet again. You're a natural.”

“Thank you,” Thorin said, his face soft and affectionate. “You surprise me constantly, so it's nice to turn the tables.”

Bilbo blushed under Thorin's regard, the words he needed to speak like a dead weight on his tongue. He picked at the remnants of his meal, unsure how to begin.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, blue gaze looking right into him. Bilbo looked up, meeting Thorin's gaze reluctantly. “What's wrong?”

Bilbo sighed, looking down at his hands, taking a deep breath before looking at Thorin again.

“Gandalf is having a rest tonight...and probably all day tomorrow, as well,” he began, still feeling very fidgety. “He's wanting to leave the day after tomorrow. And I'll be going with him.”

Thorin sat as still as a statue. Bilbo breathed deeply, waiting for him to say something. He didn't, for long moment after long moment.

“Thorin?” Bilbo said at last.

“I hadn't thought it would be quite so soon,” Thorin replied, his voice thick.

“I know, it rather surprised me as well,” Bilbo told him, smiling weakly. “But Gandalf has some wizardly responsibilities, apparently, and I think it would be best if he accompanied me back to the Shire.”

“I agree,” Thorin said quietly, his voice still rough with emotion. “I would not trust your safety to many others on this earth.”

Silence fell between them, and Bilbo thought he could slice the tension with one flick of Sting through the air. He didn't know what to do to relieve it, Thorin was just staring at him with a sorrowful, hopeless look on his face, and it was breaking Bilbo's heart.

“Thorin,” he began, needing to say anything to ease the awkwardness that had settled over them.

“Thorin!” another voice called at the same time, yelling from outside the tent. There was a rustle of fabric at the flap before it was finally pushed aside, Kili's head and shoulders popping inside, his face lit up and bright with excitement.

“Kili, what is it?” Thorin asked.

“Should you be running around camp?” Bilbo asked at the same time. “Isn't Tauriel watching you?”

“She's trying,” came a wry voice from behind Kili, and Bilbo couldn't help but smile at that.

“Never mind me, you have to come now!” Kili said, all the way in the tent now, pulling Thorin up with his good arm. The wound on his leg was still bothering him, the proof in the tender way he limped back to the door with Thorin in tow.

“What ever is the matter?” Thorin asked, shaking his head at his nephew's boundless energy.

“Fili is awake!”

 

* * *

 

He was indeed, Bilbo found out moments later, after following Thorin on a mad dash through the camp to the medical tent where Fili had been lying unconscious for the past week. He was sitting up, propped carefully on a pile of cushions. He looked tired, but his eyes were bright, and more importantly, he was alive.

“Fili!” Thorin said, rushing to his side, pressing his head against Fili's, very gently, with a firm grip on his good shoulder.

“Uncle,” Fili said in a cracked voice.

“I am so relieved to see you awake. We thought you were dead,” he said, sitting on the side of Fili's cot, gripping his hand.

“I thought I was dead as well,” Fili admitted, smiling weakly. “Imagine my surprise to wake up with Oin's frazzled face hovering over me.”

“Ahh, you know you loved it, lad,” Oin said, standing beside the cot. “We were all worried about you.”

There were quite a few people gathered in the tent now, Oin, Thorin, Kili, Tauriel, and Bilbo all crowded around Fili's cot. Kili slipped past Oin and took the other side of the cot, grinning brightly enough to rival the sun.

“Kee,” Fili breathed, his smile widening to match his brother's. “You don't look hurt so bad.”

“Ahh, just a cut on the leg and a broken arm,” Kili replied. “I didn't do as well as you, but then, we can't all get stabbed and thrown off a cliff.” His grin had turned mischievous and Bilbo was blown away by the ability of the Dwarves to take a near fatal injury and turn it into a competition.

“You'll just have to try harder next time,” Fili said. “Though I think Tauriel will have words with you if you try and throw yourself off anything.” Bilbo turned to look at where Tauriel was standing, beside the doorway, and sure enough, her face was set in a hard look of disapproval. Clearly, Bilbo wasn't the only one who didn't understand how the Dwarves dealt with such things.

“Fili,” she said, nodding. “It is gratifying to see you awake. There have been many who were quite worried for you, around the camp,” she paused for a moment before adding, “and in Dale.”

Bilbo could tell that there was some hidden meaning to her words, especially when Fili's eyes took on a hopeful gleam.

“I'm sorry I made everyone worry so much,” Fili said, his eyes holding Tauriel's still.

“We only worry because we care about you,” she said, pointedly, and Bilbo was left wondering just what they were saying between their carefully chosen words. He looked at Kili and found, by the expression on his face, that he had heard the unspoken words quite plainly.

“I wonder if you'd be so kind as to inform those who worried that I care for them in return. And that I look forward to seeing them soon.”

“I'm sure they will be pleased to hear it.” Tauriel bowed her head and disappeared from the tent, no doubt to pass on her message, though to whom it was intended, Bilbo had no idea. Kili had a cheeky grin on his face, and turned back to his brother, chattering away as if nothing odd had been said, handily distracting Thorin and Oin from the odd exchange, and if Fili's cheeks were coloured with a slight blush, no one said anything.

“I still can't believe we all made it through alive,” Fili said, looking around the group. “We did, didn't we? Not everyone is here...”

“The Company is intact,” Thorin interjected, soothing Fili's worry. “And better yet, Gandalf has managed to lift the spell of the dragon. The mountain is clean once more.”

“How long have I been unconscious?” Fili asked, eyes worried. “Not too long, surely.”

“It's been a week since the battle,” Thorin told him. “Oin, and Thranduil for that matter, assured us that you would recover fully when you woke.”

“I do believe he will,” Oin agreed. “But for now, he needs rest.”

“Rest?” Kili objected. “He's been asleep for a week!”

“No lad, he's been unconscious for a week. It's very different. Real, blessed sleep is what he needs now. He'll be well enough to get out of bed in a few days, carefully, now that we can feed him up properly.” Oin gestured to the tent at large, shooing them out. “Come back and see your brother tomorrow,” he continued, looking directly at Kili. “I'm sure he'll be awake for longer after a good night's sleep.”

“But,” Kili began to protest, but Thorin stopped him.

“Kili, come,” he said. “Don't argue. You should get back to your own bed as well.”

“Indeed,” Oin agreed. “You're only up out of your sickbed yourself, lad. Rest will do you both good.”

Kili grumbled, but got up, and with a gentle press of his head to his brother's, allowed Oin to usher him out of the tent. Thorin did the same, assuring Fili that they would all visit him in the morning.

They left the tent, and found that the heaviness that had been pressing on him had lifted somewhat. He felt better about leaving so soon now that he knew Fili would be okay. He was still apprehensive about Thorin's reaction, they hadn't had time to discuss it much, interrupted as they were by the very good news.

“Bilbo,” Thorin began, but he was cut off this time, and Bilbo was wondering if he should be annoyed or relieved by the constant interruptions.

“Excuse me, My King,” said the strange Dwarf with a bow. “Lord Dain requests an audience with you, as soon as you are available.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a few moments, his eyes filled with sadness, but nodded. “I'll meet him in my tent now,” he replied, and the Dwarf scuttled off, no doubt to relay the message.

“I won't be long, I hope,” Thorin told Bilbo, would could only smile at him weakly. “We will talk. Soon.”

“Soon,” Bilbo agreed, watching as Thorin turned and walked away, his shoulders tense but slumped, as if the weight of the world was on them. Bilbo supposed, in a way, it was. Erebor was a very large mountain, and there was much work to be done.

 

* * *

 

Since Thorin was conferring with Dain in his tent, Bilbo decided to seek out some of the others, and figured that the kitchen tent would be the best place to start. It had been greatly expanded with the arrival of Dain's army, and had transformed into an informal meeting place. He was pleased to find that his instinct had been accurate, nearly all of the company was there, except for Fili and Kili, who were in bed, as ordered, Thorin, and apparently, Balin, who was in Thorin's tent as well, planning the next stage of the gate construction. Oin was also missing, no doubt still attending to Fili.

Bilbo approached cautiously, remembering that Thorin wasn't the only one who would be sad at his departure.

“Bilbo!” called Bofur from a long table in front of the tent where the Company had gathered. A platter of bread rolls was in the middle of the table, and a keg of ale was propped up at one end, both being handily devoured by the Dwarves. “Come have an ale! We're celebrating!”

A chorus of cheers rose up from them, and Bilbo smiled in spite of his grey mood. He was welcomed heartily, pulled down into a seat between Bofur and Dwalin, and given a large mugful of ale, which he took a rather large drink of, before smiling at his Dwarves.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked, getting swept up in the good cheer of his friends.

“Why, Fili's recovery, of course!” Bofur said, raising his mug in a toast and the group cheered.

“And the recovery of the mountain, safe and free of dragon sickness!” Dwalin added, earning another cheer.

“Of course,” Bilbo laughed, realising that there was much to be grateful for. He thought about keeping his news to himself, but in the end, he realised that he'd be better to do it now, while almost everyone was together.

“I have something to celebrate, myself,” he added, to a few cheers.

“What's that, then?” Gloin asked, staring at Bilbo from across the table. “Have you finally decided to make Thorin an honest Dwarf?”

The laughter at that remark was uproarious, and Bilbo felt his cheeks flushing more with every swift smack on the back from Dwalin and Bofur.

“Quiet down you lot,” he called, deciding to take them head on...he'd learned that meekness got him nowhere with Dwarves. They were as subtle as a sledgehammer, and he'd had to learn to be just as forceful with them in return. “Honestly, don't be ridiculous.”

“Well what, then?” Dori asked pointedly, and Bilbo became aware that all eyes were on him, every ear tuned in to what he had to say.

“I'm heading back to the Shire,” he said cheerfully, only feeling half as cheerful as he tried to sound. “Gandalf will be leaving the morning after tomorrow, so I will accompany him on the road west.”

The table stilled, each Dwarf staring at him with an expression of shock, sadness and disbelief.

“So soon?” Ori asked quietly, his big, expressive eyes doleful as they met Bilbo's.

“Yes. I know it's a bit sooner than I'd been expecting, but I'd rather travel with Gandalf than anyone else. And he has responsibilities, although to whom he would not say, so we'll be leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“You'll be very greatly missed, Bilbo,” Bofur said, getting nods from all of them.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kill the mood,” Bilbo said. “And as desperately as I'll miss all of you, I'm excited to be heading home. I miss the Shire, and with Fili awake and the mountain cleared, it's time for me to be getting home.”

“Home,” Dwalin said, a sorrowful tone in his voice. “Aye lad, we understand the need to go home, well enough. It's why we're here, after all.”

“Exactly,” Gloin added. “It is a celebration. While we may be missing our friend in the coming days, we are better for having known him and distance will not make our affection fade, will it lads?”

A bittersweet cheer rose up at Gloin's poignant declaration, and Bilbo's heart lightened. He laughed, lifted his mug and said loudly, “to good friends, whether near or far. May we never forget the bond we've forged, or the love in our hearts.”

“To good friends!” the others chanted, raising their mugs and toasting along with Bilbo, his health, his happiness, and a safe journey home. They spent the rest of the evening drinking and telling tales, even the ones that they'd all been present for, laughing heartily at every exaggeration, despite knowing that it wasn't technically true. Balin and Oin joined them before long, and Bilbo would always remember that night as one of the best and brightest memories he had of his Dwarves.

 

* * *

 

When he got back to the tent, more than a little bit tipsy, despite having drank less than half of what the Dwarves had, he found Thorin already asleep, though he was twitching fitfully. He sighed, his mood dimming somewhat. He had hoped to find Thorin awake, planning to convince him that he would be perfectly amiable to Thorin bending him over the cot and rutting in him like a wild animal.

The idea faded when he took in Thorin's stress lined face, tense and troubled even in sleep. He sighed, pulling off his jacket and slipping under the heavy fur that had replaced the thin blankets that they had been using before. Thorin was a furnace, as always, and Bilbo wasted no time snuggling in, wrapping as much of himself around Thorin as he could reach.

He was asleep in moments.

 

* * *

 

He woke slowly in the dim morning light, noticing immediately that Thorin's limbs were wrapped around him now, his head tucked into Thorin's neck, pillowed on his shoulder. He sighed at the lovely warmth that surrounded him, reminded of those days between the Misty Mountains and Beorn's house, when he had slept in a rowdy pile of Durin, only this was better, as there was only Thorin, so he wasn't being crushed by the weight of Kili atop him.

He snuggled closer, letting himself breathe in as much of Thorin as he could, feeling rather sappy at the thought. He was the one leaving, after all. His head was aching mildly, not too badly, considering all the ale he'd consumed, but badly enough to put a damper on his usual habit of waking Thorin with a blow job, or rubbing against him until he hardened or...well, any number of things that Thorin might do to him if he woke up before Bilbo.

He felt the change in breathing that indicated that Thorin was waking up, blinking his eyes open and looking up to see Thorin smiling down at him, sweetly but a little sad as well.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice rough and low from sleep and the excessive consumption of ale.

“Good morning,” Thorin replied, leaning in to kiss Bilbo tenderly. They kissed languidly, neither of them pushing further, and Bilbo was put at ease by the comfortable intimacy they shared. Finally he pulled back, just taking a moment to look at Thorin like this, sleep mussed and vulnerable. It was a rare gift, this view of Thorin, not one that many have ever had before him. Perhaps Thorin would find someone else to share these moments with, when Bilbo was back in the Shire and more Dwarves had returned to Erebor.

If his stomach twisted at the prospect, he told himself it was just the ale.

“I'll miss this,” Thorin said quietly, his expression earnest, his eyes filled with emotion.

“So will I,” Bilbo admitted. “And many more things.”

“Yes,” Thorin said simply, meeting Bilbo's eyes with a level, open gaze. “I wish you would stay.”

Bilbo sighed, he'd been wondering if Thorin was going to ask him that very thing.

“Thorin,” he began, but Thorin cut him off with a kiss, quite a bit more energetic than the last.

“Don't,” Thorin said desperately, kissing him again. “Just...just let me...” He sighed, trailing off, pulling Bilbo closer and hiding his face in Bilbo's curls.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said again, sadly, running a hand up his arm, cupping his bristly cheek, pulling Thorin down for another kiss.

“I love you,” Thorin said when he broke the kiss, his eyes wide and moist, and Bilbo thought that he might just cry as well, if Thorin did. “I wish you would stay.”

Bilbo's heart clenched in regret, even knowing that they would come to this hadn't made it any easier. If Balin was right and there was no changing Thorin's feelings for him, at least they could have this, at least they could enjoy the time that they had.

“I'm sorry,” Bilbo replied, as earnestly as he could, meeting Thorin's eyes and trying to show all the regret that welled up inside him. “I have to go home, Thorin.”

“I know. I've always known. But it doesn't change my heart, amralime. You will always have it, no matter what.”

Bilbo didn't know what to say, so he kissed Thorin instead, pulling him down and slipping his tongue into Thorin's mouth, pouring all his desire and affection into the kiss. He slid his hands down and under Thorin's tunic, pleased to find that he wasn't wearing anything below the waist, regretting the fact that he'd failed to remove his own trousers before getting into bed last night.

He pulled Thorin's tunic up, eager to get at the skin underneath, and Thorin helped, sitting up in the cot to pull the offending garment off and throw it to the floor. He did the same for Bilbo, pulling his shirt out of his trousers and over his head in one swift movement, hands falling immediately to repeat the process on Bilbo's lower half.

As soon as they were both naked Thorin was on top of him, pressing his entire length against Bilbo's body, his skin hot and silky under Bilbo's hands. They kissed with more urgency, Thorin frotting down into him, with Bilbo pushing right back as eagerly.

“Thorin, please,” he said, pulling away to catch his breath, only to have it stolen away by Thorin's tongue and lips on his neck, his teeth scrapping over Bilbo's skin before sucking harshly, no doubt leaving a mark that would accompany Bilbo halfway to the Shire.

“Whatever you want,” Thorin replied, laving his way across Bilbo's neck and drawing another mark on the other side, Bilbo's skin claimed by Thorin's eager mouth.

“I want you inside me,” Bilbo demanded, his blunt fingernails scraping up Thorin's back, expressing his desire as well as words could.

“Oil,” Thorin said, sliding his mouth down Bilbo's chest and leaving more marks in his wake, and although this wasn't the first time that Thorin had claimed him in this way, Bilbo was grateful that most of the red bites would be hidden under his clothing.

He reached up for the oil, grasping the vial carefully and passing it into Thorin's waiting hand. Then all thought left him as Thorin sucked his aching cock, bobbing on it with long pulls, pausing now and then to lave the tip with his wet tongue.

Thorin wasted no time in preparing him, it may have been a while, but Bilbo's body was relaxed and receptive, taking two of Thorin's thick fingers before he experienced more than a mild discomfort. Thorin continued to suck avidly on his cock, and when he had worked in a third finger and crooked it, rubbing at that part of Bilbo that sent sparks shooting up his spine, Bilbo came with a hoarse shout, taken completely by surprise as his release rushed through him.

Thorin continued until Bilbo tugged on his hair, finally letting go of Bilbo's cock, pulling his fingers out of his hole quickly, making use of more oil to slick himself liberally. His face was stern with resolve, and he lifted Bilbo's legs up, bending him double, bracing his hands on the bed with one of Bilbo's legs draped over each arm, knees resting in the crook of Thorin's elbows.

He slid in with no hesitation, immediately setting a quick pace, keeping his thrusts shallow, avoiding the tender spot inside as if on purpose, which it probably was, if Bilbo's experience counted for anything. He kissed Bilbo again, open mouthed and filthy, as Bilbo dug his fingers into Thorn's back, hard, urging him on.

Thorin continued his measured thrusting, lowering himself onto his elbows, pushing Bilbo's legs back further, biting and sucking even more marks onto Bilbo's already tender skin. Bilbo felt his cock begin to fill once more, Thorin's deliberate pace sending fresh blood surging, every nerve sharpening under the unrelenting onslaught. He was fully hard again before long, his arms wrapped around Thorin's neck, holding on for dear life.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it any more, Thorin pushed back, sitting fully upright on his knees, drawing Bilbo's legs with him, until they lay against his chest, perpendicular to the bed, the new angle making Bilbo cry out as Thorin's cock began to brush his spot once more, occasionally, sporadically, just enough to further harden him, but not enough to bring him to the edge.

Thorin's face had slackened, his eyes resolute as they watched Bilbo's face, no doubt cataloguing every twitch of muscle and expression, every sound that fell from Bilbo's lips.

“Thorin, please,” Bilbo moaned again, reaching up with his hands, able only to clutch at Thorin's strong thighs, the rest of him much too far out of Bilbo's reach. He could gain no leverage, completely at the mercy of Thorin's desire, and apparently Thorin's desire that morning was to fuck him until he couldn't see straight.

Thorin responded by pulling out altogether, without warning, leaving Bilbo's hole aching with the loss of his hard, thick cock, but he didn't feel the lack for long. Thorin pushed both of his legs to the side, reaching down for his hips and pulling them up, until Bilbo was kneeling, his chest pressed hard to the bed by the weight of Thorin's hand, his rear in the air, cheeks spread open as Thorin pushed one aside with a large palm.

He didn't hold back, entering Bilbo again immediately, thrusting hard and fast, and deep, oh, so deep that Bilbo imagined that he could taste Thorin in the back of his throat. Thorin's thrusts were faster now, less controlled, unerringly hitting Bilbo's sweet spot with every push, his cock spearing Bilbo's hole with every motion of his hips.

Bilbo was moaning constantly, every thrust of Thorin's cock pushing a burst of air from him, his cock aching once more, bouncing unheeded between his belly and the bed. Bilbo knew that he wouldn't last long under Thorin's assault, and he didn't, coming wildly with a shout only moments later, fading into moans that reached a fevered pitch when Thorin's hand slid up off his back and grasped a handful of his hair, pulling his head back, even as the weight of his thrusts increased.

It was a mere moment later when Thorin came inside him with a rush, calling Bilbo's name amidst broken Khuzdul, gasping for breath as his hips stuttered, slowing as his cock surged and pulsed inside Bilbo's slack hole.

He fell forward, all his weight pressing Bilbo into the bed, restricting his movement and his breathing, but he welcomed Thorin's heavy frame, the weight a comfort. Bilbo imagined that he could feel Thorin's heart racing in his own chest, his gasping breaths pushing into Bilbo rhythmically, until at last they slowed and Thorin pushed himself off Bilbo with a groan, his cock slipping out, a dribble of Thorin's come in its wake. It was wet and sticky and any proper Hobbit would have been repulsed, but then again, no proper Hobbit would go to bed with a Dwarf, never mind welcome such rough and desperate lovemaking.

But Bilbo loved it. It was certainly the best he'd ever had, the most thorough fucking that Bilbo could imagine, and he could imagine quite a lot. The thought fluttered through his mind that he would never find such a spectacular, forceful lover again, should he search the entirely to Middle Earth.

He slipped back into slumber with a pleasant burn in his backside and a painful ache in his chest.


	21. A Study in Dwarven Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a most noble Dwarf of the Line of Durin. Whatever comes his way, he will endure.

Thorin watched, alone, from his spot atop the partially ruined battlements, as the sight of his One faded into the western horizon.

He'd done it. Bilbo had gone, his little pony following Gandalf's horse as they wound down the road toward Dale and disappeared. Thorin didn't move, even after all sight of them had passed. He couldn't seem to get his feet to shift, some wild, hopeful part of him thinking that if he just stayed here, then he could pretend that Bilbo was simply spending the day in Dale, that he was saying a farewell to Gandalf. That he would be back.

After all that had happened, everything they endured, Thorin would have given it all up, anything so that he wouldn't have to live with the loss.

He and Bilbo had made love for hours the night before...not the rough fucking of the previous morning, but the slower, deeper, more intimate coupling that had wrung Thorin's breaking heart out completely, leaving it a withered husk within his chest. Despite the pain, Thorin would hold to that memory, to the way Bilbo had felt against him, skin to skin, the way he responded eagerly and wantonly to every touch of Thorin's hands and mouth.

When they were finished, at last, Bilbo had slipped into a deep sleep, leaving Thorin awake, restless and emotionally wound up, wondering what he could possibly say that would convince Bilbo to stay with him. He looked back on that night and shook his head, frustrated with himself for his foolishness.

You couldn't talk someone into loving you. They either did or they didn't. Thorin did. Bilbo didn't.

In the end he had done nothing, simply passing the hours watching, holding Bilbo close, smelling the hair on his head and the skin of his neck, memorizing every line on his face and each tiny imperfection. He'd let the bitter tears slip down his face and disappear into the pillow as he kept the watch, the longest watch of his life.

And yet, for all his heartache, Thorin couldn't help but believe that it was right. After what he'd done to Bilbo that day, the Arkenstone calling to him as the gold subdued his will, the need and jealous, possessive want coursing through his veins...after all that, it was only right.

He didn't deserve for Bilbo to love him. He knew well why Bilbo was his One, he was the perfect foil for Thorin's weaknesses, he was flexible but strong and more courageous than any other by half. And now, Thorin knew why Bilbo didn't love him back, why he'd had to leave. It was penance, Thorin's payment for the greatest wrong he had ever committed. Thorin was humbled by the plan of Mahal in relation to his life. He had been gifted the greatest, most precious gift a Dwarf could wish for, and he had not deserved it.

Never having loved wasn't enough for Thorin. Not enough suffering. Loving completely and having his One beside him for so many months, being able to touch him and kiss him and revel in his presence only to lose him in a moment, to watch helplessly as his heart tore out of his chest and fled, that was proper payment, enough suffering for his sins. Living that broken reality for the rest of his life might just come close to paying his debt.

“I wondered if I'd find you here,” Balin said, appearing from the shadows behind him. Thorin merely grunted, eyes still on the road where he'd last seen Bilbo, the sun glinting off his unruly hair, turning it to gold. It was the only gold that Thorin had craved since he'd been awoken from the madness.

“You weren't there to say goodbye.” Balin stood beside him, leaning against the wall and casting his gaze down over the work proceeding below them.

“We'd already said our goodbyes,” Thorin told him, his chest aching anew as he remembered Bilbo's subdued but determined face. He remembered the way he had reached out, cupping Thorin's cheeks and kissing him for the last time, achingly sweet and heartbreaking in its finality.

“As he said.”

“I couldn't be there, Balin,” Thorin admitted, his eyes dropping at last as he laid his head on the stone. “I couldn't stand there, so close, and do nothing as he turned and left me.”

“I'm sorry, Thorin,” Balin said, gripping Thorin's shoulder and squeezing firmly. “I wish it didn't have to come to this.”

“I want you to know...I'm sorry also. For being such an ass to you when you entreated me to have caution. You were right, Balin. But it was too late by then, and I can't change it now. It was my heart that was on the line, and it is my heart that is lost now.”

“I wish I hadn't been right about it, either.”

Thorin sighed, lifting his head and facing Balin head on, his eyes itching. “It's rather funny, in a way. The great Dwarven King of Erebor, triumphant at Azanulbizar, protector of the clan of Durin in exile, leader of the Company that retook The Lonely Mountain with but fourteen souls, brought low by a gentlehobbit from the Shire.” He listed his accomplishments with a healthy dose of scorn, as if they meant next to nothing. He knew his deeds were not worthless, but for all that they availed him now, they might as well be.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Balin said, his eyes twinkling with humour, yet still conveying a gentle sympathy. Balin was an exceptionally complex Dwarf, and Thorin was grateful for his friendship and devotion.

“But you are still King, and there are things to be done. I think the stone masons want to get up here and get to work chiseling this slab flat, in preparation for the new gates. Should I tell them to find another task?”

“No, it's fine. Thank you Balin.” Thorin turned, sending one more longing look out over the road, praying that Mahal would grant Bilbo a safe and speedy journey. “Let's get to work.”

 

* * *

 

There was plenty of work to be done. Before long they had the gates up again, which not only increased the security of the mountain greatly, but did wonders to keep it warm, keeping the heat that was produced in the mountain, in the mountain.

Dain returned to the Iron Hills not long after Bilbo left with Gandalf, promising to send more workers, more supplies, and more food, all of which eased Thorin's mind a great deal. It had become very apparent that Dale was in no way able to shelter its new citizens over the winter, and with most of the mountain being declared sound, the Men had moved in.

Only the great treasure halls were strictly off limits. Although Gloin and his crew had managed to remove, count and store a vast portion of the gold and treasures within, several pillars had been damaged by Smaug, or destroyed entirely, and if there was going to be a collapse in the aftermath of the dragon, it would happen there.

Thorin avoided it when he could, but found that, when he did need to enter the treasury or pass by it, he wasn't moved at all by the glint of gold in the lamplight. When he looked on it, all he could think was what he had lost in the gaining of it. It was too much to be borne, so he could never stay for long. He wanted it gone, as much as was feasible, he wanted it spent securing a proper future for his people.

Work on the forges was proceeding apace. They had manged to light the first forge, and teams were working hard on the second and third, both of which would be lit before the fourth and fifth, the ones Smaug had lit, were extinguished. With a whole city of men and a fair number of Dwarves in the mountain, they would need the heat, as well as the water that was warmed and sent throughout. Fortunately, the damage to the plumbing consisted mainly of age and disuse, and was quickly remedied.

The same could be said for the living quarters...when the Men had moved in, they had set to work immediately clearing and cleaning. Many among them had began making furniture, the Men more skilled in the working of wood than the Dwarves, and apartments throughout the mountain were being replenished with furniture. Thorin felt like they had really accomplished something.

The Men and Dwarves worked side by side, at a pace that was dizzying to Thorin although he drove it with great enthusiasm. The mountain would be functional and livable, if not completely restored, before spring arrived, which would doubtless bring with it an influx of workers. Thorin had made a bargain with Bard, that the Dwarves of Erebor would focus their great efforts on the rebuilding of Dale, once the weather allowed. Not only did they owe much to the Men who were to live there, but it would allow those Men a chance to focus their efforts on the fields and formerly fertile river vale. It would be fertile again, Thorin was determined, as soon as possible.

The truth was, his driving purpose in life had become the proper restoration of both kingdoms. He was scarcely less passionate about the rebuilding of Dale than he was about the work proceeding in Erebor. So much so, that Bard remarked on it one morning just before Midwinter's Day, when new supplies had arrived from Dain, and with them, more workers.

“Honestly?” Thorin had asked, brooding into his tea and wishing it was an ale. According to Balin, it was not appropriate for the King to drink ale with his morning meal, though Thorin thought differently. He was the King after all, and that meant he could do what he liked. He scoffed to himself. If only that were true.

“I remember well the beauty of Dale in its peak. It was a happy place, and prosperous, and I would have it reach such heights again. We work together, Dale and Erebor, or not at all. If one of us fails, then so will the other.”

“So your determination to rebuild Dale is a selfish one, in the end,” Bard commented, giving his friend a mischievous look.

“Aye, it is,” Thorin admitted. “With the added bonus that the sooner it is done, the sooner I can throw you from my mountain.”

Bard laughed heartily, and even Thorin's face cracked a grin. He had been surprised to find that Bard was a warm, intelligent, and gracious man, and that he also had a dry sense of humour that kept Thorin on his toes. It was a fine friendship they were developing, and Thorin valued it greatly.

Bard finished his tea, gave Thorin a hefty slap on the back and strode off, no doubt to tend to his people, or to take a trip to Dale for the as of yet continuing surveys, until such time as the weather made travel unwise.

When he was gone, Thorin bowed his head onto the table, grateful that they had cleared and reappointed the royal chambers early on so that his grief would not be so evident to all. That it was obvious to the Company was burden enough to bear.

He was tired. The work was proceeding quickly, but it was also incredibly demanding, and although Balin had urged him repeatedly to delegate more of his duties, Thorin had refused.

He needed to be tired. He pushed himself every day to work harder, to accomplish more, until he was so exhausted that he was able to fall into his empty bed and pretend that the space beside him did not tear a new hole in his heart every night. Then he would wake up and do it again, until he was on the verge of collapse.

He was not handling it very well. Oh, his work never suffered, and it would not. Work was the only thing he could retreat to, and when there was no immediate work, he found himself dragging Dwalin or Nori or Bifur, anyone who could be found, really, to the practice yard in one of the lower halls, pushing them to spar with him until he could barely lift his sword. And then he would go to his office chamber and work some more, until his eyes were blurry and he could barely drag himself to bed.

He often didn't make it, falling asleep in his office chair on a regular basis, slumped over his work, or dragging himself only as far as the refurbished couch in the sitting room, to sleep beside the fire. Fili and Kili had become well accustomed to finding him there and had thankfully stopped needling him about it.

He was driven, like a wild thing, single minded in his desire to make the most of every day, of every hour. Because when he didn't...when he didn't have something to occupy his mind or his body, when he let his eyes close in the peace and quiet of a still room, then he couldn't stop it.

He couldn't stop the memories. The visions.

He saw Bilbo whenever his eyes slid shut, whenever he wasn't actively focusing on something else. He saw Bilbo, smiling at him in the way he did when they were sharing a moment, the corners of his eyes creasing, or laughing, the sleek, smooth lines of his neck tempting Thorin to lay his teeth there, to suck fragrant blood to the skin, a claim for all to see. He saw Bilbo with a scowl on his face, annoyed at Thorin and about to launch into another epic rant, a habit that always left Thorin feeling equal parts chastened and enchanted.

He envisioned Bilbo in the library, waist deep in books and manuscripts, chattering with Ori about some obscure translation, or in the common mess with various members of the Company, maybe the lads, or Bofur or Balin, engaging them all with his flair for story telling, humble and charismatic all at once. He could picture Bilbo in the big, comfortable armchair that sat beside the fire, a book in his lap and a cup of tea on the table next to him, perhaps a half eaten plate of biscuits within easy reach. Hobbits did like their food, after all. And Bilbo would want to add to the meal schedule at Erebor, to get his seven square meals a day, as he called them.

The worst though, the worst vision of all was of a more visceral nature, it was a muscle memory that plagued him. The feeling of Bilbo in his arms when he drifted off, naked and snuffling as he dreamed. The weight and warmth of him tantalized Thorin in those moments when he was still asleep but awakening. Sometimes he would wake from dreams of messy curls and hairless skin and a voice that managed to be soft and demanding at the same time, and he could taste Bilbo on his tongue, could feel small fingers pressing into his hair to tug him down for another kiss.

Thorin's head snapped up with a start. He blinked in the empty room, chasing away memories and hopeless daydreams. He felt heavy, burdened with the sheer force of the loss that was tearing him apart. It was times like that when he retreated to the ramparts, to stand in the spot he'd stood on that morning when Bilbo had clambered onto his pony and turned away from the mountain, away from Thorin. He could see again how the sun tossed curls had faded into the distance, and although the memory tore at him, it was the closest he could get to Bilbo, now that he was gone.

Thorin stood, leaving his mostly uneaten breakfast behind him, shaking the cobwebs of what might have been out of his head, and left the room.

He had work to do.

 

* * *

 

The pseudo balance that Thorin had reached took a hit several weeks later, when Kili approached him, solemnly, slipping into the chair across from Thorin's desk quietly. That alone had him lifting his head, staring at his nephew in shock and confusion. Kili never did anything quietly.

“Kili?” he said, brows furrowed as his nephew sat still, his eyes downcast, biting his lip.

“Uncle,” he replied, coughing to clear his throat before looking up at Thorin, his gaze hopeful and apprehensive at the same time.

“All right, what is it?” Thorin asked, putting his quill down and giving Kili his full attention.

“I, uh...I wanted to ask for your blessing,” Kili began, his face taking on a more determined look. “As the head of our household, I am officially informing you of my intention to begin courting.”

“Courting?” Thorin's heart clenched just a little, though he was not fool enough to believe that this had not been coming for a while. Since the day they met the Elves in Mirkwood, to be exact, although he hadn't known it at the time. “You are speaking of Tauriel, of course.”

“Yes,” Kili said, his face changing in an instant, as if he'd just remembered who he was doing this for. Thorin understood. He would move the mountain for Bilbo, if given the chance. “She has already agreed, and as she has no family, she is free to make her own choice.”

“It may be wise to speak to Thranduil however, before you make things official.”

“He can't stop her,” Kili began, but Thorin stopped his protest with a look.

“Indeed, he can't, especially as she intends to live with you. She will become a subject of Erebor, not of Mirkwood. However, such courtesies will go a long way in keeping the peace between our kingdoms. It would be different if you were not a Prince of Durin.”

“I know I am, Uncle, and I know that few will look on our union with pleasure, but...I just can't bring myself to care. I love her. I love her and I want to marry her, and by the grace of Mahal, she loves me too, though I still can't fathom why.”

Thorin sighed, happiness for Kili's happiness and sorrow for the rocky road ahead for him mingled in Thorin's heart, along with a hefty dose of hurt when he thought about his desire to court Bilbo. He'd made a start of it, really, with the mithril shirt, but he wasn't even sure it counted, since he hadn't informed Bilbo of the meaning behind it, and his One had left not long after accepting.

“I do not understand it either. She is clearly in possession of immense patience along with a hefty dose of foolhardiness, to take on a reckless, incorrigible Dwarf like yourself.”

“Yes, clearly,” Kili said, though his face had softened and his eyes had taken on a glassy, far away look that Thorin knew well. “Does this mean you're okay with it? I mean, do we have your blessing?”

“I know you better than any other, Kili, save perhaps my sister and your brother. I know that, if I refused, I would lose you, as you would follow her into Mordor itself, if need be.” He looked Kili right in the eye, and tried to be happy for him, without reservation. It was not a simple task.

“I also know that Mahal can work in ways that may seem strange and impossible to us. My own heart has also been given to one not of the Khazad, so I know something of what you are feeling. I could no more deny you this than I could deny my One. I would caution you, however, to be discreet in public, at least until everyone gets used to the idea. But you will always have my support.”

“Uncle,” Kili said, grinning brighter than the sun, dashing around the desk to crack his head against Thorin's. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by telling me just what is going on with your brother.”

Kili froze, halfway to the door, turning to look at Thorin with a stricken face, that he quickly tried to hide but looking far too cheerful. “Nothing's going on with Fili,” he said, smile pasted on.

“Kili,” Thorin said, giving his nephew a look that he hoped resembled the one he'd seen Dis give her sons on many occasions.

“He...I,” Kili shut his mouth and took a deep breath. “It's not mine to tell, Uncle. I'm sorry, but Fili has his reasons, and I'm sure he'll be telling you before long. Please, don't make me tell you.”

Thorin sighed a long suffering sigh, shaking his head at his life before nodding his agreement.

“Fine, I won't push it,” he told Kili. “But something is up, and I want to know. Soon. Tell him.”

“I'll let him know.” Kili nodded eagerly, then dashed out of the room, leaving Thorin alone once more, wondering how he could feel both blessed and cursed in his family.

Fili had been very shifty lately, and Thorin had begun to suspect that there was something going on between him and Bard's eldest daughter. Fili was not as sneaky as perhaps he thought, and Thorin could not help but notice an almost permanent smile on his face, one that spoke volumes about the nature of his secret.

Also, whenever Bard and his family joined them for dinner, which was at least once a week, Fili and Sigrid avoided each other. So much so that Thorin began to work it out.

Once again, a son of Durin had lost his heart to an outsider. He leaned back in his chair and pondered this latest development. He could hardly deny Fili's heart, not with Kili courting an Elf and Thorin himself heart bound to his Hobbit. And yet, Fili's love was going to be just as hard to handle as Kili's...Dwarves were not nearly as suspicious and mistrusting of Men, but Fili was the heir to Erebor. It was he who would wear the crown when Thorin went back to the stone.

It was not going to be easy or simple, but Thorin had learned a great many things during the Quest for Erebor, and he would not go back on those lessons for anyone. Family comes first. Love sometimes grows in unexpected ways. Strength comes in all shapes and sizes.

And sometimes, the person you least expect will come along and change your life.

 

* * *

 

Midwinter's Day came shortly after his conversation with Kili, and it involved a lot of celebrating that Thorin, quite frankly, was not in the mood for. He was proud in their accomplishments in retaking the mountain, and in restoring it. Also in the restoring of relations with their neighbours. He was gratified by the praise the Company had received and he was looking forward to what the next year would bring for his people.

But he was not happy. At times he tried to pretend that he was, or at least that he wasn't drowning in his sorrow, but as of yet, he hadn't been all that successful. People were starting to notice, and not just his inner circle, either.

“You look like you're expecting another dragon,” Balin said, not unkindly, as he took a seat beside Thorin. He had tucked himself into a corner of the Great Hall with his pipe, hoping that he could pass the evening without too many people noticing him. He had seriously been considering slipping away and heading to his office, certain that he could find something to occupy his tortured mind, to get it off hopeless thoughts of what could have been. Thoughts of what used to be and wouldn't again.

“Hmph,” he grunted, taking a pull from his pipe and closing his eyes as the sweet tasting smoke soothed his raw nerves. He had never been a terribly outgoing Dwarf, these kinds of events were not his preference, but unfortunately they were a necessity.

“I know I've mentioned it before, but people are beginning to wonder why, when the kingdom is restored and the future is looking bright, the King looks as if his worst nightmare has come to pass.”

“I look that way because it has.”

“I know it well. But they don't.” Balin regarded him carefully, and then turned his attention back to his own pipe. “I know you're struggling, but it's my job to keep you abreast of the mood of the mountain. And the mood is...confused.”

“Perhaps you should start a rumour that the King has lost his One and is in mourning.”

“You are not funny,” Balin said, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. Balin had always been one to appreciate his dark humour. “Besides, that would just open up a whole other area of speculation.”

“Then what would you have me do, Balin?” Thorin asked, tapping his pipe out, perhaps more harshly than he should. “I am not adept at hiding my feelings. I cannot pretend that everything is perfect and blessed when for me, every minute of every day is a bleak, unending torture that I only endure because I have no other choice.”

“I'm not sure what is to be done, if you want the truth,” Balin admitted. “But I wanted to let you know, your subjects are worried. They are intensely proud of their King and their mountain, and in their eyes, harm to one is harm to the other.”

“And yet, the mountain will get along just fine without...” Thorin trailed off. He could not bring himself to speak Bilbo's name, not here. Not now. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut on the burn that pricked them. “And I never will,” he finished, quietly. “I can't pretend otherwise, Balin. But I will do my best to try harder. In public at least.”

“And while you're at it, perhaps you will take a little more time to yourself? You'll work yourself to death, at this rate.”

“I...this is what I need to do. Every time I have a minute to myself, I think of him. Whenever I close my eyes, he's there. The only way I can bear it is if I keep occupied, keep busy, keep moving. I will lose my mind if I have to slow down, Balin.”

“I'm sorry, Thorin. I wish there was something more I could do to help.”

Thorin sighed, meeting his friend's eyes, seeing a reflection of his sorrow in them. “Unless you can bring him back to me...” Thorin said, trailing off. He shook his head. “There is nothing anyone can do, Balin. Only one person can help me now, and he's not here.”

He stood, tucking his pipe in his coat, nodding sadly at his oldest friend. “I'll be in my office if I'm needed.” Balin nodded, nodding back.

Thorin slipped out of the hall as quickly as he could, nodding a greeting to those he passed. The celebration was too much. It was too cheerful for him. From Kili and Tauriel's palpable glee to Fili's quiet contentment, to the joy and excitement spread across faces of Men and Dwarves, from one side of the room to the other, he could not bear it. Because when he saw them looking like that, when he saw his people and his neighbours looking so happy and content, he could so easily picture Bilbo among them, smiling his beautiful, bright smile, his eyes dancing with mirth, toasting his friends and telling tales in his expressive manner. He could imagine catching Bilbo's eyes across the room and watching his joy changing, heating with desire and invitation.

That line of thought never ended well for Thorin. He was better off cutting it out before it took root. Besides, he had work to do.

 

* * *

 

Less than a week later, Bard had joined him in his office, to discuss the last survey they'd done in Dale, before the snow really set in, and how it affected their plans for rebuilding, once the weather turned. They had months of such discussions ahead of them, but Thorin welcomed the visit. He and Bard had become surprisingly good friends by that point, and he was less likely to fall into his own thoughts when there was someone else around to keep him focused.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Thorin used it as a way of segueing to what had been on his mind for a few weeks. His suspicions about Fili's affections had only been strengthened, though he had yet to have them confirmed.

“So, when do you think my eldest nephew will be asking your daughter to marry him?” he said casually, eyes still on the paper in front of him as he made a few notes. There was no response but silence, so he looked up, surprised by Bard's look of surprise.

“Wait...what?” Bard said, his eyes wide, but as he watched, Thorin could see the light come on in his head, the realisation kicking in. Surely Bard had seen what Thorin had seen, although apparently he hadn't put two and two together.

“Oh,” he said at last, shaking his head in wonder. “I've been so busy lately, I've hardly had a chance to pay attention to my own children. That will have to change, now.”

“Well, there's only so much for us to do, now that the weather has us pinned, so perhaps it's a good time to have a conversation with Sigrid.”

“I don't believe it. Why hasn't she said anything to me?” Bard leaned forward on the desk, dragging his hands through his hair.

“Probably for the same reason Fili hasn't told me,” Thorin said, smirking at his clueless friend.

“How long has this been going on?” Bard asked, incredulously. “Since we moved into the mountain?”

“Since we climbed out of your toilet, I think. And then you took them in while Kili was sick.”

“That long?”

“I believe so. When Fili woke after the battle, he had a short conversation with Tauriel that clearly meant more than they were saying out loud. I'd forgotten about it, but thinking back now, I'm certain that they were talking about Sigrid.”

“Tauriel spends a lot of time with Sigrid. And Tilda and Bain, of course.”

“And she was also in Laketown after we'd left for the mountain.” Everything was coming together in Thorin's mind.

“She saved my family,” Bard said soberly.

“And mine,” Thorin agreed. “Which is why I wouldn't dare to come between her and Kili. Nor will I if Fili is indeed courting Sigrid, which I believe he is.”

“I can't believe it.” Bard was shaking his head, eyes wide.

“Do you have a problem with them wanting to be together?” Thorin asked, wondering suddenly, if despite their friendship and cooperation, the thought of his daughter marrying a Dwarf was a step too far.

“No, I...” Bard smiled suddenly. “No, Fili is a lovely young man...uh, Dwarf. I like him, and I respect him a lot. He's been working very hard to help bring us all together. He has a feel for the people, and how to talk to them. His manner is genuine and sincere in a way that can't be faked. He'll make a fine King one day, Thorin. You should be proud.”

“I am. Very much. And yes, he seems particularly interested in cordial relations between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor.” Thorin said wryly. “He's rather passionate about it, in fact. I believe that his passion stems from a purpose completely aside from the relationship between Dale and his future kingdom.”

“I believe you're right.” Bard sat back, as if exhausted. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“Honestly, I think we should leave it alone. They'll tell us when they're ready.”

“Fine, but I'll still be keeping a closer eye on Sigrid, that much is certain.”

Thorin couldn't help but chuckle at that. Yes, having Bard around was most diverting indeed.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, pulling a bottle of spirits from his desk drawer. “I keep a little something here for just such an emergency.”

“I think I'd better,” Bard said with a laugh.

 

* * *

 

When Fili finally approached him, it was several weeks into January, and Thorin was reading over yet another series of mine reports, not in his office, but on the couch in their sitting room. Despite their conversation on Midwinter's Day, Balin had not let up on him, still pushing him to get more rest, to take more down time. Thorin had tried, for two whole days, but they had been the most miserable, painful days of his life. He hurt all the time, really, but it was worse when he had time to think about it. Time to dwell.

So he had started taking his work home, as it were. The boys rarely ate in their suite and Thorin usually ate in his office, so their dinning table had become the receptacle of a good portion of maps, surveys, trade agreements and supply reports. He knew he was living on borrowed time, and Balin was sure to figure him out soon. If he could make it last long enough, Dis would no doubt put a stop to it when she arrived.

But for now, it was working.

“Uncle, do you have a minute?” Fili asked, prompting Thorin to look up. The look on Fili's face informed him that the time had finally come, he was finally going to tell Thorin that he was courting Sigrid. Thorin had been waiting impatiently, ever since his conversation with Bard. Who, it turned out, had pulled back the reins on Sigrid's freedom, much to her chagrin. And Fili's. Thorin knew the restriction would force, or rather, encourage, Fili's hand, and sure enough, just over a week later, he was approaching Thorin with the same sick and excited expression that Kili had worn when he'd asked to court Tauriel.

“I always have time for you, Fili,” Thorin said warmly, trying to decide how to react. Or, if he should surprise Fili with his preexisting knowledge.

“Good, that's...good,” Fili said, fidgeting nervously, but not taking a seat.

“Is this about your upcoming wedding to Bard's oldest daughter?” Well, apparently he had decided to go with the latter. Fili's look of shock was worth it. Thorin chuckled, leaning forward and shaking his head at his gobsmacked nephew.

“You know?” Fili asked, slumping in the armchair across from him. “Did Kili tell you?”

“Yes, I know, and no, Kili did not tell me, although I tried to make him. Your brother kept your secret much better than your own face.”

“Oh,” Fili said, shaking his head. “I thought we were being discreet. Well, discreet enough.”

“You were not obvious, but I haven't made it to where I am by being unobservant, especially when it involves my kin.”

“How long have you known?”

Thorin sighed, leaning back himself. “I knew you were keeping something from me when you woke after the battle, but I was...distracted for a while after that and saw nothing but my own troubles. My suspicions grew over time, and soon I realised exactly what was going on. What I want to know is, why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“We, I...I didn't want to,” Fili began, uncertainty all over his face. “I wasn't sure how to ask considering everything that happened. And Kili got to you first, so...”

“Fili, you don't ever have to hold back from me. I have been...struggling, it's true. And yes, the sight and knowledge of yours and Kili's joy causes some...well, it brings up feelings that I haven't been able to push aside, even after all this time. But that is not your problem. It's mine. Understand?”

Fili nodded, relieved, and Thorin took a deep, cleansing breath. He knew why both of them had been nervous. He knew they hadn't wanted to rub his nose in their successful love lives, but the fact is, he was going to have to get used to it. He had another century in him, if not longer. It was likely he would see the next generation paired off and married as well. It was not something he could avoid, not for long.

“Yes,” Fili assured him. “I understand. And...I'm sorry, Uncle. I wish things would have ended up differently. We all miss Bilbo, too, though I know it's not the same.”

And that did it...just hearing his name spoken aloud made the blood freeze in Thorin's veins. He had avoided it since Bilbo had left, because he knew how hard it would be to hear. He was right. It was hard enough when the memories and vision assailed him, but hearing his name twisted a fresh wound into Thorin's heart.

“Yes, well...” he managed, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling, trying to pull himself together. “Thank you, Fili.”

“Now,” he said, sitting forward again, and facing his nephew seriously. “How long ago did you start the courtship?”

“I...a few months ago. We've already exchanged gifts, and I know it's irregular, but we don't want to wait for the endless span of time it usually takes. We don't want to wait at all, but she's still too young...she comes of age in April, so we were hoping we could be wed on her birthday.” Fili leaned forward, his face clearly showing his eagerness to move things along.

“That's soon. Maybe too soon.” Thorin's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I know when you're young everything seems immediate, but..”

“It's not that,” Fili insisted, interrupting. “Well, not only that. The fact is, Sigrid is of the race of Men, and you know as well as I that their lives burn out so much quicker than ours. I've thought about it a lot, and I know it'll tear me apart when she dies...if we're lucky we'll get a mere sixty or seventy years..”

“You'll barely be middle age by then, Fili,” Thorin pointed out.

“I'm aware. And I've factored that in, but the plain truth is that I love her. It just...it just happened, and before I'd known what my heart had done it was too late. It's too late for me, Uncle. I can’t change it now, and I wouldn't if I could.”

“I know the feeling. But it's trickier with you, because you are the heir, and everyone is going to want to see your courtship and feel a part of it. It'll be harder because she's human, and harder still because Kili is marrying an Elf.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Uncle, I...”

“No, don't apologize. I'll tell you what I told Kili, that I understand well that sometimes love takes you by surprise, and you can't predict where it will lead you. I know that better than most, I think.” Thorin took another calming breath...this conversation was getting harder as it went.

“Yes, you do,” Fili said with a weak smile.

“I will not deny you this, Fili. I wouldn't dare. However, I must insist that you wait to get married. April is too soon, it would be too much to ask. And there is another consideration that, I admit, has more weight than any other.”

Fili waited patiently for Thorin to elaborate, and Thorin was surprised he hadn't thought of it. They had been gone so long, perhaps he had become accustomed to answering only to Thorin.

“The fact is, if I let you get married before your mother arrives, she'll have me killed. After torturing me painfully.”

“Oh, right,” Fili said, shaking his head. “She would kill me, too. And it's far too soon to make Sigrid a widow.”

“Indeed. You will formally begin courtship, though we will let it be known that your first gifts were already given, and we will fix on a date after your mother arrives and has had her say. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Fili's smile was infectious, it always had been. Thorin found himself smiling back. No matter how awful he felt, his nephews would always bring a lightness to his heart.

“When is the earliest we can expect her, do you think?” Fili asked, his enthusiasm showing.

“Late May, early June, perhaps. It depends on how swift the raven was, and how soon the caravan started out. I'm certain they would not wait for winter to pass before beginning, travel through Eriador is not too difficult in winter, and they would be poised to cross the Misty Mountains as soon as the weather breaks.”

He did not dwell on the fact that Dis and the others would be crossing from east to west, probably around the same time that Bilbo would be going in the other direction. Possibly they would meet, Gandalf and Bilbo would not need to guess where such a large caravan of Dwarves would be heading.

“Excellent,” Fili said, thankfully pulling Thorin from his thoughts. “Thank you Uncle. I'll go tell Sigrid now. And we must talk to her father.”

“Oh, Bard already knows,” Thorin said, shaking his head at Fili's expression.

“He does?”

“Yes. He's her father,” he said, purposefully leaving out the part where he had been the one to inform Bard of their clandestine courtship.

“Oh. Well, I'd better go. I have a future father in law to placate.”

“Indeed you do,” Thorin said. “And Fili? Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said, standing up and clasping Thorin's shoulder, resting his forehead on Thorin's affectionately, and much more gently than Kili had. “I'd better see you at dinner!” he called as he left the room. “Or I'll sick Balin on you. Or worse, Kili!”

Thorin sighed. Balin had figured out Thorin's latest strategy, and had recruited the boys to help him keep tabs on their uncle. He would need to find a new way to keep himself occupied. Perhaps he could get us very early, get in a few hours of work before breakfast, and be exhausted enough to go to bed earlier.

The evenings were the worst.

 

* * *

 

Scarcely a week later, when the news of Fili's courtship had come out, Thorin had another conversation with Balin. The mood of the mountain was...uneasy.

Thorin had known that this was going to happen, when it came out that both the Heirs were courting from another race. Some were all right with the idea, some were uneasy and some were not at all pleased. Thorin did his best to assure everyone that he had the greatest faith, not only in his heirs, but in their choice of wives.

It had helped, but Thorin was determined to find something else he could do to make his subjects more accepting. He'd thought of an idea, it had crashed into his mind, quick as a flash, and he had spoken before thinking. It hadn't had the desired result, as Balin just sat back, staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Balin asked, wearing a look that reminded him of Fili's, just last week.

“You heard me, Balin.”

“Yes, but I can't believe I heard you correctly. Say it again, so I'm certain that I've got it right.”

Thorin sighed, second guessing himself yet knowing that Balin would not let him let it go. “I thought, that if I found a good political match, perhaps it would be advisable for me to marry. I could ease the minds of my subjects and father an heir, to take the pressure off Fili and Sigrid. I'm sure he wouldn't mind being pushed back in the line of succession. He is devoted to his place, to being the best he can, but being King is not his dream.”

“I thought that's what you'd said,” Balin remarked grimly. “I still cannot believe my ears.”

“It's all I can think of Balin. It's a solid idea.”

“Yes, and if you pulled it off, you would be very successful in your objective. However, before you pursue it, let me ask you this.”

Thorin sat back, bracing himself for what Balin would say. In the end, he was surprised by the kindness in Balin's tone, although he realised that he shouldn't be. Balin was the kindest person he'd even known.

“Go on,” he said.

“Could you bear it, Thorin?” Balin asked. “Could you marry another? Make vows of faithfulness? Could you treat her fairly and make her happy?” Balin leaned closer, meeting Thorin's eyes fiercely. “Thorin...could you take her into your bed? Could you bear to touch her and make love to her? One who is all but a stranger? After having known the joys of loving your One?”

As Balin spoke, Thorin's stomach filled with lead. There was a horrible pain in his chest, and a throbbing in his head that gave him the answer before Balin had asked the last question. And when he had mentioned bed, and the thought of touching another person the way he had touched...

He couldn't even think it. He felt sick to his stomach, leaning down onto his knees and dropping his head between them. He breathed as deeply as he could, desperate for air, desperate to clear his head of the thought, disgusted in himself for opening his mouth and vocalizing it.

He looked up at last, meeting Balin's soft eyes, despondent in his grief.

“No,” he choked, moisture filling his eyes. “No, I could never. No, I...no one but him.” He breathed heavily, in through the nose and out through the mouth, pulling himself together, painstakingly. “I'll never touch anyone else, not as long as I live.”

“I know, lad,” Balin said. “I know.”

“Balin...please forget what I just suggested. It was clearly ravings brought on by temporary insanity.”

“Consider it done,” Balin agreed. “We'll do much better to continue introducing Sigrid and Tauriel to your subjects by degree, bringing them into more rituals and celebrations, as would be done if they were not outsiders. The people need to see that you trust them, that they are part of your inner circle. Also, I think that it would be best if we presented at least Fili's match as politically minded. I know it's a love match from start to finish, but by claiming that it is vital to our future relationship with Dale we may ease the way, at least a little bit.”

“I agree,” Thorin said, nodding. “Let's go with your idea.”

 

* * *

 

Thorin dragged his feet all the way back to the royal apartments, exhausted, but not nearly exhausted enough. After his ludicrous suggestion to Balin, he'd been unable to drive Bilbo from his mind. Usually he managed with more work, more exercise, more anything to keep himself occupied. And he needed the distraction badly that night.

Unfortunately, Dwalin had finally put his axe down, declaring that he didn’t care what was making Thorin crazy that night, he was going to bed. Thorin had glared at him, but to no avail.

Dwalin was clearly a most ungrateful friend.

He showered quickly, getting ready for bed, then picked up some paperwork, settling into a chair beside the fire to read, a strategy that failed almost immediately. He tossed his reading aside and stalked around the room, restless, jittery, unable to focus his mind or his body.

The thought kept coming to the fore, the thought of being with someone else, and even though it had been a pointless fancy dismissed within moments, it still felt like a betrayal to Bilbo. To his memory.

He needed to exorcise that thought. He'd been attempting to avoid thoughts of Bilbo for months, but at last he realised that he needed to give in. Give in to the grief, to the aching desire to hold Bilbo again, to kiss him and love him and focus instead on cherishing the time they'd had.

He didn’t have Bilbo. But he did have memories. Painful ones, but sometimes, the pain was a therapy.

He leaned onto the mantlepiece, setting his mind to the task. He prepared the room for bed and climbed in, getting settled, laying back on the bed, and finally, for the first time since Bilbo had gone, he let himself remember.

The memories came hard and fast, from the first night in Bag End, when every touch, every taste, every sound that he'd drawn from Bilbo's lips had been a revelation, to the last night, when he had poured all his love into every touch, lavishing Bilbo with all the devotion in his heart. The nights in between came to him as well, every new encounter, every discovery they had made along the road together, all combining in his mind, sparking his desire into heart wrenching fullness.

His cock rose, and he realised that it was the first time he'd had an erection all winter. He embraced it fully, pushing down his sleep trousers, letting his hand trace lightly over his cock before grasping it with a firm grip, stroking leisurely at first.

He played back the most vibrant memories in his head and his strokes began to quicken, their first night in Rivendell, the way Bilbo had shouted his pleasure without restraint. The coming back together at Beorn's, the first time after Thorin had realised and accepted his love for Bilbo. The night in Laketown when Bilbo had taken him, a discovery that had been unexpected, made all the more brilliant in his memory.

It didn't take long, with the visions his mind was producing, and he came hard, unexpectedly, his climax a release of desire and pent up longing, wrenching itself from his body with a pleasure that bordered on pain. The aftershocks rippled through him, leaving him shaken as the memories faded.

As soon as the sensations had receded, he found himself crying, silently, the tears streaming down his face and neck, soaking into the pillow below him. He let them come, releasing the hurt and the grinding loneliness that had plagued him all winter, letting it flow over him in waves, cleansing him at last. He was left feeling hollow but somehow lighter, his heart empty but sated with catharsis.

He would face the coming days renewed, still grieving, still lost, but somehow, more able to endure.


	22. The Hobbit Art of Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo heads home, happy to be on his way at last. He is. Happy, he means. Yes, he's happy.

The journey west was much more pleasant than the trip east. Well, it was if one considered only the speed and ease of travel. It was a great deal colder and despite wanting to start quickly as soon as possible, Bilbo had begun to have second thoughts about his decision to travel in winter.

Gandalf was good company, and the Elven Guard they'd met on the borders of Mirkwood brought them through the woods in what felt to Bilbo like record time. It hadn't been a time free of annoyances, however. As much as Bilbo was intrigued by the Elves and enjoyed their company, their fascination with him was a mite overdone. Every evening one or more would engage him in conversation, peppering him with questions about the Shire, or his travels, imploring him to share tales of his journey east. They were most insistent regarding his time in the Woodland Realm, and the impossibility of his rescue of the Dwarves from their prison.

It was grating on his nerves, to be honest. It was worse than the beginning of his journey with the Dwarves, and unlike then, there was no Thorin to distract him from his peeves.

He found himself thinking of Thorin often. He wondered what he was doing, how the restoration was coming along, and if the Men of Dale had indeed moved into the mountain. It would be a close, interesting winter if they did, they would have no choice but to find ways to get along, and Bilbo was certain that they'd come out of it with a better understanding of each other, and a closer bond.

He found himself awake at night, more often than not, pondering how much more comfortable travel was when you had someone to share a bedroll with. He was irritable and ungrateful, he knew, but he couldn't help it. He was a Hobbit and he had been travelling for a very long time, away from his cozy hole under the Hill. No wonder he was on edge.

When they finally reached the western borders of the forest, they had been surprised to find the ground ahead of them covered in a dense blanket of white. The forest had been as dark and dank as ever, apparently the tightly packed tree cover had kept out all but the heaviest falls of snow.

Bilbo was very grateful for the pony then, despite his general wariness toward the beast. It kept him from having to trudge through the snow, and increased their speed as well. In the end, scarcely a month had passed before Bilbo and Gandalf were entering Beorn's compound, the warm glow of the windows a welcome sight after slogging through the early winter snows.

As he'd remembered, Beorn's house was warm and comforting, if a little large for Bilbo's tastes. Beorn was a great deal more welcoming than he had been on their first visit, which put Bilbo somewhat at ease. As much as he could be, anyway.

“I am surprised to see you here, little bunny,” Beorn said, his voice managing to be soft and booming at the same time. Bilbo chalked it up to the sheer size of him. “If I'd had to guess,” Beorn continued, “I would have thought you'd stay in the mountain with your Dwarf.”

“He's not my Dwarf,” Bilbo insisted, feeling distinctly uneasy. Every one seemed to be making the same assumptions about Bilbo's choices, and it was beginning to grate on him.

“He seems to think he is,” Gandalf pointed out, earning a scowl from Bilbo.

“Yes, well,” Bilbo began, unsure of how to continue.

“If you ever decide to go back, you are quite welcome to stop here,” Beorn told him, breaking the awkward silence. Bilbo smiled at him and gave a nod.

“Thank you Beorn,” he said simply, turning back to his meal of warm bread and honey.

 

* * *

 

In the end they stayed only three days in the house of Beorn. Much to Bilbo's surprise, Gandalf had prearranged for their passage over the mountains, on the back of Gwaihir, Lord of the Eagles. Bilbo was stunned and thankful, knowing that it would cut a significant amount of time off their journey. He had felt certain that they would have spent many months in Beorn's house otherwise, and he was eager to be getting home.

Bilbo could not deny feeling a few...pangs when they were saying farewell to Beorn, leaving their mounts behind. It was hard, saying goodbye to everyone in a row, first the Dwarves, then Bard and his family, then the Elves of Mirkwood. True, he was still looking forward to seeing Elrond and his kin in Rivendell, but he had found the Woodland Elves interesting in their own way. Perhaps he was a little more patient about their constant entreaties now that the pressure had passed.

Also, he was apprehensive about flying again. His first experience on the back of an Eagle had been sudden, traumatic and completely overwhelming. He had spent half of the flight hanging on for dear life, and the other half terrified for Thorin. Bilbo had worried that he was dying as they flew, or that the eagle carrying him in its talons would lose its grip and he would plummet to his death.

Flying together with Gandalf proved to be much more palatable. He was much larger than Bilbo and he sat in front, breaking the wind and allowing Bilbo to breath normally the entire time. The flight over the mountains was much longer that the first flight, however, and they had been obliged to make several stops so that Gwaihir could rest his wings. It took two whole days, and by the end of it Bilbo felt very wobbly and relieved that the experience was behind him. He was happy to be on solid ground once more. For good.

True, the sight of soaring over the mountains and forests was exhilarating, but Bilbo was not cut out to be so far above the ground. The trip had only increased his desire to be back in Bag End, safely beneath the roots of his oak tree.

He had thanked Gwaihir effusively, however. The graciousness of the eagle had cut his travelling time by at least four months.

After Gwaihir had once again taken to the sky, Bilbo took stock of where they were. They were on a foothill over a forest of pine, a river cutting through it, not too far off. They must be close to Rivendell, though Bilbo had no idea how close.

“How far is it until Rivendell?” he asked Gandalf, following behind the wizard as he cut a trail through snow that was knee deep on Bilbo.

“Not far at all,” Gandalf replied. “It's fairly early in the morning now, we should be there in time for dinner.”

Bilbo smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “I am looking forward to setting my poor frozen feet in front of a warm fire.”

Gandalf huffed, no doubt well aware that Hobbit feet rarely became cold. If they could anywhere, however, it would be a place like this. It was the beginning of January, best as Bilbo could figure it, and the snows were settling over the mountains in earnest. Fortunately for Bilbo, the worst was now past. Eriador had proven to be of a fairly temperate climate, and while he was certain that they would encounter plenty of snow on their way toward it, Gandalf had assured him that they would be able to acquire new mounts in Rivendell, to decrease their travel time once more.

The day felt longer than any other Bilbo had spent, excluding the time when Thorin was in the grip of the madness. And, perhaps, the day of the Battle of the Five Armies. At any rate, it was a long day. The snow made for uncomfortable travel, and while Gandalf had been chatty and open while they were in Mirkwood, after leaving Beorn's he became taciturn and distant.

That was the trouble with wizards as travelling companions, Bilbo had learned. You never knew when they were going to head off somewhere else, and they were moodier than a cat with a bad attitude. He trudged along behind Gandalf, feeling lower than he had during the whole trip, lonely and wondering, not for the first time, what on earth had persuaded him to step out of his door in the first place.

Oh right. Thorin.

The reminder did not help Bilbo's mood. Now he was lonely and he was certain that his mood would be greatly improved by an earth shattering orgasm under Thorin's hands. And that train of thought wasn't making the walking any easier. He was cold, wet, uncomfortable, lonely, hungry and horny.

It was not the most dignified arrival,when they finally reached Rivendell.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately Elrond was hospitality itself. He ignored their appearance and mood, and ushered them quickly into a suite, very similar to the one Bilbo had shared with Thorin the last them they were here...and didn't that bring back vivid memories...but it was closer to the dining Hall and library, much to Bilbo's pleasure.

“When Gandalf sent word of your approach, I admit, I was surprised to find you travelling back west, Bilbo Baggins,” Elrond said, and as annoyed as Bilbo was to hear yet another person express the same ridiculous surprise that Bilbo would desire to go home after his long journey, it was delivered in a kind, understanding tone of voice, and Bilbo found himself not all that resentful of it.

“Why wouldn't I want to go home?” he asked anyway, pertinently, raising a brow at Elrond in a way he had learned after many conversations with Gandalf. Elrond himself was also quite proficient in the eyebrow lift of judgement, as Bilbo thought of it in his head, so why shouldn't he try to turn it around on them?

“I had thought you were quite...close, to Thorin Oakenshield, while you were here, though I believe you left the valley at odds?” Elrond raised his own brow right back at Bilbo, and he had to concede to the master. Elrond had the benefit of many long year of practice.

“We did. And I was, but,” Bilbo stopped, sighing with weariness. “Despite whatever may have been assumed about our relationship, I never intended to stay in Erebor. I've said it far too many times to be patient about it, but I'll give you the benefit, Lord Elrond, as you were not in attendance for any other of the multitude of times I've had to repeat the same words during this quest, but I want to go home. Bag End calls to me, and I have family and responsibilities that I have left for far too long. Why anyone is surprised that I haven't changed my mind about these things is beyond me.”

Elrond's second brow had risen to join the first while Bilbo had been speaking, but Bilbo couldn't bring himself to worry much about it.

“Indeed,” Elrond replied. “I'm sorry if I caused any offence, Master Baggins. I was simply curious, that is all.”

“It's quite alright,” Bilbo said, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly way. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired and in need of my bed.”

'My cold, empty, lonely bed,' he thought moodily, as he got up from the table and made his way back to his room.

Once there, he had a very long bath, letting himself soak until he was far too hot, although the water was cooling, and his fingers and toes looked like freshly dried raisins. He pulled himself out, his body sore, but not in the way he'd become accustomed to while travelling with the Dwarves. Thorin's efforts had always added a delightful ache to his muscles, in addition to the ache of travel.

Feeling just the one ache was...odd. He frowned as he dried himself off, his mind going back to the last bath he'd had at Rivendell, at how volatile Thorin had been that afternoon. The aftermath hadn't been his best moment, although he stood by his words. In the end, it had brought them closer together, and for that Bilbo had been grateful.

He'd fallen into bed, muscles loose and relaxed but his mind still a mess, his thoughts dashing about and crashing into each other. It was chaos. He was eager to get home, and although Gandalf had intended to stay a week, Bilbo wondered if he could be convinced to leave a day or two early. Bilbo missed home and wanted to get there sooner rather than later.

He missed Bag End. Yule had already passed, but there were still many days to spend cozy by the fire with a book and a cup of tea. And come spring, he would have plenty of work to do, reorganizing his garden after a year of neglect, although he was certain that Holman would have seen to the basic maintenance of it. Bilbo hoped that he had also taken a bit of extra pay from the rents, in payment for the extra work. He would make sure of it once he arrived home.

He was able to admit to himself that he missed the Dwarves, also. Rivendell was beautiful, as always, and he had spent some time that afternoon wandering the paths of the valley city, but it seemed so quiet without the boisterous exuberance of his friends. He laid on the bed for long minutes that seemed to take forever to pass, but he could not seem to slow his mind.

He closed his eyes and couldn't help the thought that, if Thorin were here, he would find a way to soothe Bilbo's nerves and distract his uneasy mind. But he wasn't here, so Bilbo had to distract himself. And he knew only one way to do that.

He breathed deeply, letting his hand slide down his chest, running his fingers lightly across his growing erection. His mind had a rather large store of erotic memories to choose from, so it didn't take long until he was fully erect. It was as if he could feel Thorin's big hands on him, stroking firmly across his skin, while his mouth drew blood to the surface, all over Bilbo's neck and along his collarbone. Thorin had always liked to mark him, he'd thrilled in leaving bruises on Bilbo's tender skin.

Bilbo stroked himself slowly, but tightened his grip, remembering the firm way Thorin would hold him, when they were in a tight spot and they were pulling each other off quickly, or when he'd taken the time to spread Bilbo open, spearing him repeatedly with his thick cock while stroking Bilbo to completion at the same time.

It didn't take much to bring Bilbo close to the edge, if he tried hard enough he could fool himself and pretend that Thorin was there, touching him eagerly, his always hot skin pressing against Bilbo's as he was held down. He opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, half believing he would see Thorin's rugged handsomeness over him, his blue eyes dark and intense with longing and desire.

He gasped, stroking harder now, letting his free hand trail up his chest, mimicking the feel of Thorin's fingers as he touched Bilbo until no part of him was left undiscovered. He thrust up into his fist, remembering the way Thorin had sucked him, as if the only sustenance to be had was what Bilbo had to give him.

He came with heady force, splattering his chest and belly with white stripes of come, squeezing himself to milk the last few drops out of the tip before letting his hand fall, panting in the silence of the room as his body regained its normal breathing patterns and heart rate.

It was a release, but somehow, it did not release him. He got up and made his way gingerly to the sink, cleaning his hands before wetting a cloth and wiping the mess off his torso. He'd hope to ease his troubled mind and relax his body, but while he felt a bit more relaxed, his mind was still going a mile a minute, wound up with memories and confusion.

He would never get to sleep at this rate. So he pulled his clothes on, reluctantly, and left the room, heading in the direction of the library. Perhaps a book or two will help to tire his troubled mind.

 

* * *

 

The library did help, though not a great deal. However, instead of thinking about Thorin, he found himself thinking about his other friends and what they would think of the place. There were a great many books in Westron in the Rivendell library, and even some written in Khuzdul, side by side with the seemingly endless amount of tomes in Sindarin. There were even some in languages that Bilbo could not identify.

He thought of how eager Ori would be to see these books, and wished that he'd taken the chance to find the library on his last visit, so he could have shared with him. Balin would appreciate them a great deal, as well. He missed them both, very similar in their quiet, reserved natures, yet both shrewd observers, for all that Balin had many years of experience on Ori. He thought fondly of them, the library only serving to enhance how much he missed all his friends.

He remembered this feeling, the last time he was in Rivendell. Then, he had felt a surge of homesickness so great it had threatened to consume him. Only Thorin's ever eager sexual appetite had distracted him from it, although their argument the day before they'd left had brought it into light once more.

By the time he'd given up finding any distraction in the library, it was very late, so he hoped he'd be able to sleep. He padded back to his room, and was pleased to find that some fine soul had left him a plate of vittles, lovely sweet buns and a pot of tea with milk and sugar. He sat by the fire with the tray on a table beside him and indulged himself in a late night snack. It seemed to work better than anything else he'd tried.

In typical Hobbit fashion, warm feet and a full belly did more to ease his mind than all the books in the library. He may be an eccentric, oddball of a Hobbit, but he was still a Hobbit after all. Once he'd eaten his fill, he crawled in to bed once more, and this time, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in Rivendell longer than Bilbo had been hoping, though it wasn't the torture he'd fancied what he'd hit a low that first night. Elrond was gracious and extremely well read, giving Bilbo several ideas on which books he might like to read. There were quite a few others who were willing, even eager, to talk with him, and unlike the Elves of the Woodland Realm, they were more delicate in their questioning, very accepting of his tendency to babble and get off topic. They smiled fondly and let him finish, or reach a point where he knew he'd followed a thought down another rabbit hole, before directing him back to the topic with another insightful question.

He was also greatly pleased when, upon hearing the tale of the spiders, and how Bilbo had seen fit to name his sword, the Elves had insisted that he have it inscribed, with the name and title, so that all who saw it would know of its deeds. He thought about how disappointed he'd felt when Balin had told him that his sword wasn't named, that it was not even a proper sword, so he jumped at the chance. If he ever got the opportunity, he would take great delight in showing off the new inscription, done in a beautiful curving motif that complemented the design that it already bore.

They left nine days after they'd arrived, in mid January, on a day when the snows seemed to be fading, and the winds were in the west.

“It's a fine day for travelling in winter,” Gandalf said as they rode up and out of the valley, having said their goodbyes over an early morning meal. “It's the best weather I could have hoped for.”

“How long do you think it will take us to get back to the Shire?” Bilbo asked.

“It's a trip of about six weeks when you're riding, but not quickly, although the weather will change that somewhat. I think it'll be about two months before we get you back to Bag End.” Gandalf replied.

“Well, that's not too bad,” Bilbo said, cheering up a bit.

“Not bad at all. If Gwaihir had not consented to fly us over the mountain, and he was in no way obliged to do so, aside from the fact that he is a very kind and helpful sort, then it is very likely we would still have been in the House of Beorn in two months' time.”

“Well, that's very good news then. I feared we would be wintering on the eastern side of the mountains, but I am impatient to get home. It has occurred to me that Lobelia is no doubt working her wiles on anyone she can in order to get me declared dead so that she and my spineless cousin can move into my smial.”

“Oh, surely she can't have you declared dead so quickly,” Gandalf commented, and Bilbo scoffed.

“I'm sure she would, if she could. Not many Hobbits disappear and fewer on purpose. I should have at least stopped off and had a word with Holman before I left, but I admit, I thought if I waited I would end up second guessing my decision. Again.” Bilbo shook his head, hoping that his friend and neighbour had continued on as normal while Bilbo had been gone. And that he wouldn't be too put out by Bilbo's extended absence.

“Well, I'm sure you'll get it all sorted out before too long, if there is a problem.” Gandalf said.

“I'm sure I will. And if she gives me any trouble, well...that's what Sting is for,” Bilbo said with a cunning grin, noticing Gandalf's disapproving look. “Oh, just to scare her, honestly Gandalf, what do you take me for?”

Gandalf looked at him for another moment before breaking the silence with an amused chuckle.

“I take you for a Hobbit that has changed a very great deal, since he ran out his door last April.”

“You did tell me I would not be the same if I returned home,” Bilbo said, his amusement faded as he pondered the truth of Gandalf's words. Many things had changed, and Bilbo was definitely one of them.

“I did indeed,” Gandalf said, smiling at Bilbo from atop his horse. “And you have changed. Very much, and for the better,” he added, to Bilbo's delight.

The rest of the trip went quite smoothly, although they did find themselves stuck in Bree for 3 days, while a fresh dump of snow piled up in drifts outside the Prancing Pony. Bilbo had spent them in very restless spirits, being so very close to home but so unable to make his way there. He'd also been hit by another surge of...well, he would have called it homesickness, but since he was almost home, he wasn't sure that was the right term.

It was more like...friend sickness. He wasn't missing home, now that he was so near to it. He was, however, missing his friends with a fresh ache that surprised him with its force. They hadn't stopped in Bree on the way east, so he didn't even have memories of the Dwarves there to haunt him.

And yet, haunt him they did. The Prancing Pony was just their kind of place. The bulk of the company would have loved the ale, the food, the cheery, boisterous atmosphere. They seemed to bring that atmosphere where ever they went, anyway. Bilbo smiled, sipping his ale, not because it was his preferred drink, but because it brought back memories of his Dwarves. He spent the short days in Bree in a gloomy melancholy that only broke when the weather did.

He parted with Gandalf two days later, after they had crossed the Brandywine and were nearing the West Farthing. Gandalf left him on the same path on which he'd caught up to the Company, all those months ago.

“It is here, I must leave you,” Gandalf said, once they had dismounted. “You are less than a day from Bag End, and I daresay you know the way yourself.”

“Yes, I do. Thank you Gandalf.”

“Before I go, I want you to listen to one last piece of advise, if you would,” Gandalf said, as mysterious as always. “There are many magic rings in this world, Bilbo Baggins, and none of them are to be taken lightly.”

Bilbo's face showed his surprise, no doubt, though he tried to hide it by denying Gandalf's claim.

“Don't take me for a fool, Bilbo. I know you found one in the Goblin Tunnels, and I've kept a close eye on you, ever since.”

“Well, thank goodness,” Bilbo said at last, admitting that he had the Ring, however passively. “I have much appreciated your help and friendship.”

“And I yours,” Gandalf replied.

“Farewell, Gandalf,” he said, sharing a smile with the wizard who had become his great friend.

“Farewell indeed, Bilbo.” Gandalf winked at him, before turning and heading back to his horse and the pony, while Bilbo turned at last, to the paths that led to home.

 

* * *

 

There was no snow on the paths of the Shire in March, the weather was temperate enough that the heavy snows came only in the deepest parts of winter, and here, spring had already taken hold, spreading new life and colour across the meadows and hills.

Bilbo's heart surged with happiness as he walked up the paths that wound between houses, small chimneys piping out the smoke of the cook fires within. It was almost dinner time, and the smells on the Hill were making Bilbo's mouth water. He felt a pang of frustration, knowing that his pantry was empty, that it had been when he'd left, and if there was anything there, it was no doubt long spoiled.

“Master Baggins!” a voice called to him, with excitement and alarm. “Bilbo!”

He looked up, realising suddenly that he was steps away from home, his bright green door visible, so very close. He noticed that there was smoke rising from Bag End, but he didn't have time to ponder that development as he was soon apprehended by Holman Greenhand, a face he was very pleased to see.

“Holman!” he called back, stopping off at the gate of number three, Bagshot Row, smiling widely as he greeted his friend.

“Master Bilbo, I'm so very glad to see you looking so well! Why, all the Hobbits this side of the Brandywine were sure you were dead!” Holman exclaimed, his face showing his surprise and gladness.

Bilbo laughed, clasping him on the shoulder. “Reports of my death have been grossly exaggerated,” he said, shaking his head. “I am very much alive, although perhaps the Brandybucks knew better, as, until yesterday, I was in fact on their side of the Brandywine.”

“Oh, but I'm sure we'd have heard if you were merely in Buckland,” Holman said with a furrowed brow.

“I wasn't in Buckland,” Bilbo told him.

“Then where? You've been gone for eleven months! Just one more, and you would have been presumed dead, officially”

“I travelled a great deal further to the east, Holman. It's a story I'd dearly love to tell, but now is not the time, I'm afraid.” Bilbo hitched his pack up a little more on his shoulder, still clutching the little chest of gold with the other arm.

“Oh, indeed not, it's getting on to dinner time. Hamfast will be back soon, no doubt, he's just been off buying some pastries for our desert. Would you like to stay for dinner, Master Bilbo?”

Bilbo shook his head. “Perhaps another time, Holman. I feel almost desperate to get home, and I have supplies in my pack, so I won't go hungry tonight. I can have the pantry restocked tomorrow, and then I'd be better to invite you and Ham to dinner.”

“Restocked...but, your pantry is no doubt in very fine shape right now, what with your cousin staying these last few days.”

Bilbo stilled, remembering the smoke rising from his chimney, panic rushing over him. She wouldn't have, would she?

“My cousin? Which cousin?” he asked, though he could not bear to wait for the answer. “Please, for the love of Mahal, tell me it's not Otho and the wretched Lobelia.”

“Oh, no Master Bilbo, sir,” Holman said, looking horrified. “I would never let her inside Bag End, not if my life depended on it. Why, she'd make out with your mother's silverware and jolly knows what else!”

“Thank goodness,” Bilbo said, relieved. “Which cousin, then?”

“Oh, Master Drogo, of course, Master Bilbo,” Holman replied eager. “I hope you don't mind, he had a key and I know that you get on fine with the lad...he's of age now, did you know? Anyway, he's been up a few times over the last year you've been gone Master Bilbo. He's kept a small pantry, and has been most helpful in collecting the rents and storing it all away. I hope I haven't done wrong by letting him stay,” Holman looked nervous, as if Bilbo would be displeased to hear who was in Bag End. To the contrary, he was thrilled. Drogo was his favourite cousin, second cousin if you wanted to get technical, which most Hobbits liked to when it involved genealogy.

“No, not at all!” Bilbo said. “Drogo is most welcome...he does have a key, for the simple reason that I trust him. But, he doesn't live in Hobbiton, why is he here?”

“Ahh, that is another tale,” Holman replied, leaning on the fence. “Young Miss Primula has been visiting some family for the last few weeks, and best I could figure it, Master Drogo did not want to spend much time apart from her.”

“Have they finally decided to make it official? I believe she is of age now as well?”

“Yes, they have,” Holman said, his face split with a bright grin. “They will be married on Midsummer's Day, along with a great many others.”

“It is a fine day for a wedding,” Bilbo agreed, his heart lightening more the longer he talked to Holman. He always had all the gossip, the old chatterbox. “And on that note, I think I'll make my way up the Hill. I'll bet Drogo has dinner ready by now, if I know him at all, and I'm rather peckish myself. Come up for tea tomorrow, if you would, Holman. It's been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, Master Bilbo, indeed it has. I will see you tomorrow.”

Bilbo gave a wave, his smile not fading as he walked up the Hill, feeling much more energetic now that he knew he wouldn’t be having lembas for dinner. Again.

He pulled open his gate quickly and padded up the steps without hesitation, but when he was facing his round, green door at last, he stopped. This was it. He was finally home. He felt happy, very much so, but there was also a roiling in his stomach, and all he could think was that there were certainly no Dwarves inside. The thought made tears burn his eyes, although he didn't let them fall.

He was happy to be home. He was.

He pushed the door open, hearing the rattle of dishes in the kitchen, no doubt Drogo had dropped something in his surprise. He would not have been expecting the door to open without himself on the other side. Bilbo stepped in, the familiar sight of Bag End filling him up with contentment. The smell on the air spoke of supper, and he turned, spying his cousin from across the sitting room.

“Bilbo!” came the cry, Drogo's face etched with disbelief and joy. “You're back!”

“Hello Drogo,” Bilbo said, dropping his things right there on the floor of the entryway. “Have you made enough dinner for two?”


	23. A Long Awaited Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming home to the mountain is strange and wonderful all at once. With so many things new, is anything the same?

Dis gazed up at the newly rebuilt gates of Erebor, sorrow and joy at war within her. It was plain to see, for one who had grown up within those gates, that much damage had been done. They were secure, yes, but to her well trained eye, the signs of hasty repair were obvious.

She sighed, knowing that the inside of the mountain was undoubtedly in much worse shape, but then, it had been just over six months since Thorin and his Company had ousted the dragon and with but thirteen Dwarves and what help Dain could provide, there was no doubt that improvements were slow in coming.

And yet, when she spotted the guards on the battlements and the frantic activity on the ground, she was filled with immense pride and no small amount of joy.

He had done it. Thorin had retaken Erebor.

She imagined her brother, the majestic bearing he had always carried, even during the depths of poverty and despair, her heart swelling to think of him wearing the crown of their grandfather in his proper place on the throne.

It was a fanciful vision at best. true, Thorin may be King, had been raised and trained to be so, and he had ruled their people well in exile, labouring tirelessly for the benefit of his subjects until he had established his own halls and secured their safety and security in the ancient city of Belegost. However, Thorin had never desired power for the sake of power, he had only ever sought to do his duty and care for his people. He had been, and would continue to be, a true King of the Line of Durin.

Dis heard a cry go up as she approached the gates, the mountain rising tall and majestic above her as the caravan neared, no doubt well expected. When Thorin and the Company had departed, she had begun the preparations for the great Eastern Migration, as she had come to call it. They would not leave until word came that the mountain was won, but they would be ready the day word came. And they had been. Less than a week had passed after the raven bearing the news had arrived, and the Dwarves of Belegost, formerly and soon to be of Erebor once more, had set out on their return journey. They had set out for home.

And now they had arrived.

The shouts that had come from the gates were, as Dis had suspected, her sons. She was overjoyed to see them, alive and whole, though she had received a letter from Balin outlining the injuries they had received in battle. Fortunately, and here she whispered a prayer of thanks to Mahal, they had not been fatal, and all three of her boys, for her brother may be the elder but he was still hers, had survived. So had the whole of the Company, according to Balin, for which she was also grateful

Mahal had blessed them indeed.

“Mum!” the boys yelled in unison, and Dis dismounted in one smooth motion and was caught up in the arms of her sons, at last. The three shared a tight hug, though she noticed that Fili had flinched and stiffened slightly, his wounds not completely healed, it seemed.

“My beautiful boys,” she said fondly, her voice barely more than a whisper, tears unbidden in her eyes and she stood back and took them in. They had both grown, perhaps not in stature, but in bearing. They had seen much sorrow and many troubles, but had come out on the other side battle tested warriors. Their faces were bright with joy, and their hair was uncharacteristically neat, tidy braids adorning thei...

Wait.

Her train of thought stopped when she spied a very unexpected braid woven into Kili's dark hair, the brightness of a copper bead all but glowing on its dark background.

Her eyes widened. The bead was unusual, she could not decipher the symbols imprinted on it at a glance. She turned to look at her eldest, his expression suddenly bashful, his cheeks flushed red, and a similar braid in his hair, fastened with a...wooden bead?

Her sons, both of them barely of age, were courting.

Who, she could not say. Fili's bead was as unusual as Kili's. Wood was never used as a courting or family bead, unless in the direst of need. It was marked with flowers and ribbons of vine, while Kili's looked like a field of stars over a flowing script she couldn't recognize from so far away. She gave them both an appraising look.

“Explain,” she demanded, standing back out of their arms.

The boys, though she realised she could hardly keep calling them that now, if they were battle tested and preparing for marriage, shared a look, but just as Kili opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by a loud voice calling for her.

“Sister!” Thorin bellowed, striding toward her, looking every part the victorious king, even without a crown on his brow. He wrapped her in a bruising hug, which she returned quite eagerly.

“My brother,” she replied when she pulled back, studying him as she had her sons. 'No courting braid,' she noted, and yet, there was something...off, about Thorin. His face bore a smile of delight, but his eyes were dark and haunted. He looked gaunt and strained with more than the difficulties of the quest and consequent rebuild.

“What's wrong?” she asked in the same commanding voice she'd used with her sons. She had noticed the significant look Fili and Kili shared behind Thorin's back, neither of them meeting her eyes.

“Nothing, as you see,” Thorin replied, his hand sweeping a broad gesture, indicating the work at the gates, the bustling activity as the caravan moved past them into the mountain. “We have made excellent progress this past winter.”

“Thorin,” she said, her voice a warning. She was not fooled one bit, and he knew it. His smile slid off, and his face took on a despair that broke her heart. “Thorin, what's happened?”

His head dropped, and Dis imagined she could see the weight pressing into him, dragging him down. He looked more burdened now than he had at their lowest in the Blue Mountains.

“I...Dis,” he began, meeting her eyes. She gasped, the pain in them was profound and crushing. “I lost...I lost my burglar.”

“Your...but I don't understand,” she said, confused. She glanced towards the boys once more, but they were both looking at their boots. “I thought everyone survived. Balin told me the burglar had returned home, safe.”

As quickly as he had let it fall, the veil rose up over his face once more, shuttering away his pain.

“I can't...I won't talk about it,” he said, his voice suddenly hard and devoid of emotion. “I have things to do. Fili and Kili will show you to your rooms.”

With that he turned and strode away, his shoulders tense and his spine straight, for all that he appeared to be carrying the weight of the world. Dis stood and watched as he left, sorrow trailing him like a cloak. She turned, taking in her boys, their faces also wreathed in sorrow, then saw Balin approaching. From him, she would get her answers.

“Balin,” she said, taking in his nod of greeting and returning it. “Tell me what has happened to my brother.”

“It's rather a long story, lass,” Balin said, giving her a sad, exhausted look. “Although I could sum it up with two words.”

“Bilbo Baggins,” Fili said. Kili nodded, his face as sad as his brother and Balin's.

“Bilbo Baggins?” Dis asked, her brow furrowed in confusion. “That's the Hobbit's name? The burglar?”

“Yes,” Balin confirmed, glancing around and putting a hand on her arm to pull her away. “But it would be best to have this discussion in a more private setting.”

Dis saw the wisdom in that, so she put her curiosity aside for the moment and followed as Balin and the boys led the way into the mountain.

She was distracted by the sight of the inside. Here, the desolation of Smaug was much more evident. While the majority of the rubble had been removed and repairs were well underway, the damage to the floor and the pillars was unmistakeable.

Smaug didn't do anything by halves.

“It's still rather unfinished here,” Balin explained as they walked through the entrance hall and deeper into the mountain. “We've been focused on the gates, the kitchens and the living quarters. Also, we've decided that the sooner we get the gold counted and stored away, out of sight, the better. Gloin has a team working on that around the clock and they are almost finished. We've also spent a great deal of the winter fixing such infrastructure as is necessary, plumbing and sewers for example. Also, efforts have been satisfactory in refurbishing the great forges, four of the five are now complete, and the last is almost ready. We've reopened the mines, to a limited degree, and the treasure halls, where the worst damage was, are being repaired as well. Thorin intends to build an extensive public market and common area in the main hall, a much better use than the display of excessive riches.”

“Much progress has been made,” Dis exclaimed, much pleased.

“Oh, aye, but we still have a good ways to go. Having the Men of Dale in the mountain over the winter was a great help, as it allowed our most skilled labourers to focus solely on their tasks.”

“They have moved back to Dale now?”

“Only just. Once the weather broke we shifted the majority of our efforts to Dale, so the Men could get on with the business of planting. A good portion of the city is habitable now, and all of the Men have returned to it. Well, most of them. Some stayed because they were well suited to working the mountain.”

“You'll have more help now,” Dis pointed out, and Balin nodded.

“A great boon to our progress, indeed. Both in Dale and Erebor.”

“And how did the Men handle being in the mountain with all the gold? No doubt the dragon has left its mark on it,” Dis said, wondering just what kind of a winter could be had in such a situation, although Balin did not allude to any such difficulties.

“It hasn't been an issue, as Gandalf released the gold from the dragon's curse,” Balin said with satisfaction.

“Was it an issue before?” Dis asked. Then she saw the look shared between the three, and wondered how wrong she could be.

“It...was, yes,” Balin admitted. “Thorin was not unaffected when we first returned to the mountain, though he is well recovered now, and will not be sliding back, I'm certain of that.”

“But that's wrapped up in the story of the burglar,” Kili added.

“Yes, we will have to get to that in due time,” Balin added. “Ahh, here we are,” he said, and Dis saw that indeed, the royal wing was in excellent condition. Their apartments were well protected in the lee of the mountain.

“The living quarters were all structurally sound,” Fili explained. “Although they needed a good scrub, and most of the furnishings needed repair or replacing. The Men helped with that a great deal, they are fine workers of wood, after all.”

Dis noticed that her son said this with a blush upon his cheeks, and could not wait for an explanation of all that had happened.

“They seem to have done a fine job,” Dis commented, taking in the royal quarters with pleasure. There was a large, open space for use as a common room, with an expansive seating area filled with comfortable looking couches and armchairs, all set not too far from the massive fireplace.

A large table with many chairs dominated a back corner of the room, standing along its walls were bookcases and cabinets, though most of the books were in the libraries, the main one across the mountain, and their private library, which was contained within the suite. A modest but well appointed kitchen took up the other corner, and Dis knew that the door leading off the main room, closest to the main doors, was a small toilet room. There were a pair of desks along the wall, between the powder room and a lovely carved archway.

“This is lovely,” she said, smiling at her sons, who beamed back at her proudly.

“We've cleaned all of Thorin's work from the tables, so it's even neat in here,” Kili offered with a proud grin.

“Thorin should not be working at home,” Balin said, frustration clear in his voice. “But he is stubborn as a Durin, given that he is one.”

“I'm sure you remember where to find the rooms,” he continued, gesturing at the wide archways leading from each side of the room. Dis knew that those corridors led to an array of bedrooms, with six suites down the left corridor and down the right there were three larger suites and 6 smaller rooms which shared three bathrooms between them, designed specifically for growing families. There was plenty of room for all of them, and for the future, which was a very good thing, if the beads in her son's hair were an indication.

“I do indeed,” she said, giving Balin's arm a squeeze.

“We put you in the first room down the east corridor, across from Thorin. Kili and I have taken the nearest rooms on the west side,” Fili told her.

“That's fine,” she replied, drawing an hand across Fili's cheek, pride and happiness welling up inside. And yet, she was uncomfortably aware that somewhere else in the mountain her brother was working himself into a state of exhaustion in order to forget the bone deep sorrow that seems to have encompassed him.

She knew him well, had known him for the entirety of her hundred and eighty two years. He dealt with his grief, frustration and stress in the same manner, by working himself ragged.

“All right, sit,” she commanded the other three, seating herself in a plush armchair beside the fire, Balin taking the chair opposite while Kili sat on the couch between them, Fili joining his brother on the couch after stoking the fire and adding another log.

She waited, but no one spoke, the three of them staring anywhere but at her.

“Right then,” she said at last, looking at each of them in turn. “We will deal with your braids in due time.” She glared at her sons for a moment, before turning back to Balin.

“So. Tell me about the burglar.” Balin took a deep breath, and launched into the tale.

“It started the first night, in the Shire. As soon as Thorin entered the smial, I could tell that he was on edge about the Hobbit. He was disdainful and dismissive, but then, Bilbo didn't exactly make the best first impression that night. We discovered later on that Gandalf, the sneaky, underhanded wizard that he is, had not, in fact, received Bilbo's agreement prior to that night. The first he'd heard of our plan was when we were all packed into his dining room discussing it.”

“After we had taken over his house and eaten all his food,” Fili interjected, shamefaced.

“We feel really bad about it, now,” Kili added.

“Yes, well, the fact is, despite what we were told, Bilbo had not been expecting us, nor had he been informed of the details, or what we required of him.”

“I'm surprised that he didn't kick you out immediately,” Dis commented.

“He tried,” Balin admitted bashfully. “I fear that Dwalin and I were rather pig headed about it, but when a Dwarf has his mind set...”

“He follows through,” Dis finished for him. “I'm well aware.”

“By the time Thorin had arrived, late as usual, we had consumed almost every scrap of food in Bilbo's formerly well stocked pantry,” Balin said.

“We thought it was for us!” Kili exclaimed defensively. “How were we to know that Hobbits eat seven meals a day? There was so much food, and Gandalf had promised us dinner!”

“Hobbits do consume an extraordinary amount of food, when given the choice,” Balin agreed, with the boys nodding along.

“Moving along,” Balin continued. “He fainted upon hearing Bofur's rather descriptive list of ways a dragon can kill you, so we revived him and had him settled with a soothing cup of tea, and that's when Gandalf attempted to convince him to join us, which was not an easy task. Made harder by the fact that Hobbits rarely travel the whole Shire, never mind leave it. At any rate, he was unsuccessful, and Bilbo retreated to his bedchamber without signing the contract. We settled in for the night, thinking that we had lost our burglar, but determined to go ahead with the Quest anyway. We planned to leave at first light.”

Balin paused and collected himself, looking a little uncomfortable, but determined to get through his explanation.

“That's when Thorin decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. Considering all the things that happened afterwards, I'm convinced it was less about persuading Bilbo, and more about Thorin justifying his desperate attempt to get close to him.”

“I don't understand,” Dis said, looking from Balin to the boys and back.

“Thorin seduced him,” Kili said plainly.

“He did what?” Dis stared at him blankly, assuming that he was joking. With Kili, one never knew. But Fili was fidgeting uncomfortably, and Balin looked grave and even more uncomfortable.

“Thorin called it 'persuading', but Kili hit it closer to the truth, I think,” Balin confirmed.

“He...and the Hobbit was successfully seduced, then?” Dis was still having a hard time wrapping her head around the idea. Thorin was not remarkably forward about such things, although she was aware he'd had a few lovers over the years. Still, to try such a thing with someone the first night he met them, and a Hobbit, no less. It was astounding.

“Oh yeah, Bilbo was thoroughly seduced, if the sounds he made were any indication,” Fili said with a smirk.

“Fili!” Dis exclaimed, staring at her son in shock. At least he had the grace to look abashed.

“We all became pretty inured to it,” Balin said, shaking his head. “It might have been the first time, but it certainly wasn't the last. Bilbo is not one to hold back, his opinions, his complaints, his ire...he's remarkable straight forward. And from the sounds of it, Thorin threw himself into his persuasion with exceptional vigour.”

Kili muttered something under his breath that made Fili turn red, but before she could ask him to repeat it, Balin spoke up again, perhaps a bit louder than necessary.

“Needless to say, we weren't surprised when Bilbo caught up to us the next morning.”

“Yeah, Thorin was pretty smug about that,” Kili said, nudging his brother, who coughed into his hand awkwardly.

“Yes, he was,” Balin continued, shooting a look at the boys. “Though Bilbo may have decided to come along on his own, we'll never know. And that was just the beginning. They carried on their...physical relationship from there. Thorin made no attempt to hide it, although Bilbo seemed to think it was just between them.”

“Hobbits may not be very observant, if he thought we'd miss it,” Kili said with a snort. Balin ignored him.

“Thorin was pretty heavily in denial about his feelings, however, and treated Bilbo rather disdainfully in the beginning. True, Bilbo didn't have the skills needed to survive in the wild, but he is smart and picked everything up pretty quickly.”

“Thorin got pretty nice after Bilbo saved his life,” Fili said.

“He did? The Hobbit saved Thorin's life?” Dis asked, wondering how many times she would be shocked or surprised during the story.

“Many times, in fact,” Balin said. “He saved all of us, repeatedly. Bilbo is a great deal more than he seems, when you first meet him.”

“He sure is!” Kili said with enthusiasm. “He's smart and sneaky and funny, and more courageous than anyone I've ever met!”

“Which is all the more astounding considering how small a person he is,” Balin added.

“The way he dealt with the trolls, remember?” Fili said with a grin. “He was amazing.”

“Trolls?”

“Yes, there may have been an incident with some trolls,” Balin said, giving Fili the stink eye, no doubt for letting something out that Balin wanted to bring up much more tactfully, or not at all. “The fact is, Bilbo is a most extraordinary and admirable creature. He charmed us all immediately and as the journey went on, he showed his great worth time and time again.”

“He was always surprising us,” Fili said. “But still, Uncle wasn't terribly kind to him.”

“Whenever he didn't have Bilbo pressed between himself and something hard, that is,” Kili said with a snigger, earning an elbow in the ribs from his brother.

“Yes, thank you Kili,” Dis said with a grimace. “I do not need to hear any more details of my brother's sex life, if you please.”

“Well, I've heard much more of it that I ever thought I would,” Kili said with a sulk. “Don't see why you should escape so easily.”

Fili elbowed his brother, hard, and Dis shook her head at the both of them. She thought about Thorin's behaviour for a moment, letting the boys tussle on the couch while Balin lifted his eyes and prayed for patience.

“If the Hobbit,” she began.

“Bilbo,” Fili and Kili said together.

“Fine. If Bilbo was as amazing and courageous as you say, then why did he let Thorin treat him like that? While continuing to have sex with him?”

“I think, at first, he was overwhelmed by Thorin...both in private and public moments. And then he worked hard to prove his worth, to show Thorin that he deserved a place amongst us, but in truth, every time he did Thorin's attitude only got worse.”

“Which just confirms that he was already in love with Bilbo,” Fili said sadly. Dis' head was spinning, there was so much information to take in, and it seemed that this was only the beginning.

“He got worse?”

“Worse,” Balin said, nodding in confirmation. “Once we reached Rivendell, Thorin and Bilbo spent much of their time behind closed doors...”

“For all the good it did,” Fili said, rolling his eyes.

“Elves and Hobbits need to learn a thing or two about soundproofing,” Kili added. “Bilbo can holler to wake the dead.” He nudged his brother, who joined him in snickering. Apparently, courting or not, quest or not, her boys were still boys.

“Not every species builds with stone, boys,” Dis commented, before turning her attention back to Balin.

“But the night before we were to leave, they had...a bit of a disagreement.”

“It was spectacular, from what I heard!” Kili said.

“Yeah, Bofur told us he really ripped Thorin apart, and didn't take any of the crap Thorin tried to shovel back.”

“Well, I was there, and I cannot disagree with Bofur's assessment, however crude. Bilbo was not pleased with the way Thorin had been encouraging us, all of us, to behave in a...less than mannerly way. Not that all of us gave in to such an attitude.”

“Which is your way of saying, with the exception of yourself, and probably Ori, they acted like a bunch of rude, disgusting slobs.”

“Basically, yes,” Balin said, looking pointedly at the boys, who were looking pointedly at the floor, suddenly very quiet. Dis heard Kili mutter something about a fountain under his breath, but Balin continued, ignoring Kili's mutters.

“Bilbo let him know just how he felt about that. The argument went downhill from there, though in Bilbo's defence, his words were actually true.”

“And Thorin's head was probably firmly up his rear end,” Dis said, thinking that she may need to snack her brother across the back of the head.

“So Bilbo ended it,” Balin said. “He told Thorin in no uncertain terms that he would no longer allow himself to be treated in such a way. As you can imagine, Thorin did not take it well.”

“I imagine not,” Dis said.

“From there, Thorin got worse.”

“Worse still?” Dis asked, feeling defeated. Her brother was such an idiot, sometimes she had a hard time believing that they were related.

“Oh yeah,” Fili said, and Kili nodded his agreement. “It was not a pretty sight.”

“We left Rivendell the next day, with Thorin in a horribly dark mood.”

Dis noticed Balin giving the boys a significant look. They both nodded subtly before he continued. She'd have to poke at that omission at a later time.

“We were separated in the mountains and once we made it through, we realised that Bilbo was nowhere to be found. Thorin did not hold back his opinion that Master Baggins must have fled.”

“But he hadn't!” Kili said with a grin. “He popped out from behind a tree and gave Thorin a good talking to.”

“Bilbo was very eloquent. He talked about how much he missed his home, and that he knew we didn’t have ours, that it was taken from us, and he'd do everything he could to help us take it back. Though I feel certain he was speaking to Thorin alone, at that point. Thorin was pretty subdued after that, and I believe, that is when he knew.”

“Knew what?” Dis asked, still stunned at the thought of a Hobbit getting through her brother's thick skull.

“That he was in love with Bilbo and that he had been all along. That is the moment that Thorin knew he'd found his One.”

“Oh,” Dis said, sitting back, astonished. “And...are you certain?”

“We weren't then, but now? Absolutely.”

“His One,” Dis said, her heart clenching, remembering how she'd met hers, how she'd loved him. She looked at her handsome boys, and could see so much of him in both of them. She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. “His One is a Hobbit.” She couldn't help but laugh a bit at the very idea.

“Indeed,” Balin said. “And truthfully, it makes a great deal of sense. Thorin is more stubborn that most, and exceptionally hard headed...”

“A true Son of Durin,” Dis commented with a snort.

“An equally stubborn Dwarf would never have been able to deal with him,” Balin continued. “But Bilbo is not a Dwarf. He is bendable, flexible. Soft, even. And yet, he has a spine made of the strongest iron. He will not be moved once he's set down roots, and yet he can bend as needed. The wind can blow, but Bilbo bears it all, and pops back up, unharmed. It is remarkable.”

“I'd never thought of it like that,” Dis said. “You're right. He sounds perfect for Thorin.”

“And then, he saved Thorin's life!” Kili exclaimed. “Get back to the story.”

“Well, once we'd escaped the mountain and had been reunited with Bilbo, we were attacked by a large party of wargs and Orcs, led by Azog.”

Dis sighed. “Unlike Thorin, I had never been convinced that he had perished.”

“Indeed, he had not. Thorin confronted Azog, on his own, white warg and all. But Azog had the advantage and knocked Thorin about quite handily, until he was stunned, paralysed with shock and pain. Azog sent a minion to bring him Thorin's head.”

Dis felt a chill rush over her. If she had not seen the evidence to Thorin being alive and well, she would have felt sick to her stomach. She still did, a little. “Where were the rest of you then?” she asked.

“We were...”

“Holding onto a tree that was hanging off a cliff,” Kili cut in. “The wargs had pushed us back so far that we thought our deaths would meet us falling from a cliff instead of being eaten alive.”

“So there Thorin was, on the ground in front of Azog, as we struggled to get out of the tree and reach him. All hope was lost, until, from out of nowhere, Bilbo slammed into the Orc who'd been ready to put his blade to Thorin's throat. He struggled with it on the ground and then stabbed it clean through. He then stood, standing in front of Thorin with his tiny sword slashing at Azog, as the Orcs closed in around him.”

“It was like nothing I've ever seen!” Fili said, reverently. “Bilbo barely came up to Azog's hip, but he stood between the Pale Orc and his prize.”

“He didn't even know how to hold his sword properly!” Kili added. “Bilbo was amazing.”

“Indeed,” Balin agreed, a fond smile creeping across his features. “And that allowed us the time we needed to get out of the tree. We attacked the Orcs, and may have defeated them all, but that is when the Eagles came, plucking us off the mountainside and carrying us far away, leaving us, whole and alive, atop the Carrock.”

“How did you manage that?” Dis asked, her eyes wide.

“Gandalf,” the boys said in unison.

“When Thorin regained consciousness, he called for Bilbo and admitted at last, very dramatically I might add, that he'd been wrong in his estimation of Bilbo's character, that he'd never been so wrong in his life. The words he spoke when he pleaded for Bilbo's forgiveness confirmed what I had long suspected.” Balin paused, no doubt for effect. And he thought Thorin was dramatic?

“Yes?”

“Thorin called him amralime.”

Dis gasped. Oh, she'd known that Balin thought the Hobbit was Thorin's One, but hearing it so, that Thorin admitted it so openly...it was astounding.

“Bilbo had no concept of the import that word carries with it, of course. But we knew. And regardless, Bilbo forgave him.”

“It got a lot better between them, from there,” Fili said.

“Bilbo continued to show his worthiness, saving us all many more times, though we can get into those details later. For now, it is enough to say that Thorin was utterly in love with him, and as devoted to him as you might expect.”

“Incredible.”

“We are at the point now, that perhaps the boys should like to take over, as their courtship braids will be explained in the next few legs of our journey.”

“But...what happened with Bilbo? Why isn't he here?” Dis insisted, not quite ready to switch to another perspective. “Was it the gold sickness?”

“Not as such,” Balin said. “It was short lived, and Bilbo himself drew Thorin out of it in the end. It was a much simpler reason, and one more difficult to overcome.”

“Even more difficult? What, then?”

“Bilbo is not in love with Thorin,” Balin said simply, his face expressing the sorrow he felt. “Hobbits do not love as we do, and he was devoted to his home. He wanted desperately to return, and although he cared deeply for Thorin, that is what he did. He left about a week after the battle, two days after Fili awoke.”

“He left that quickly?”

“Gandalf was leaving, after lifting Smaug's magic from the gold, and Bilbo intended to go with him. The speed of it surprised us all, not the least Bilbo, but in the end, he chose to leave. And now Thorin is...”

“Lost,” Dis concluded, her heart breaking for her brother.

 

* * *

 

Dis settled into her room that night, her mind preoccupied by all that she had learned. After Balin had finished, the boys picked up the tale, first Kili, describing Bilbo's spectacular feats, saving them all from spiders and Elves in turn, and describing with a fierce devotion the way he himself had been saved by Tauriel.

She still could not believe that her son was in love with an Elf. Of all people! And yet, all three of them had described Tauriel's efforts to save Kili's life, again and again, and Fili had spoken of her single minded devotion most fervently. She had to admit, Kili had never been a conventional Dwarf, and he did need someone who could keep up with him. She looked forward to meeting the Elf the next day, so she could judge for herself. She could not help but wonder if Tauriel would appear so devoted to her son if he were not a Prince of Erebor. Her scepticism was alive and well.

And then there was the human girl. By all accounts Sigrid was much quieter than Kili's love, but stern and determined, steadfast in her efforts to care for her younger siblings through the trials of grinding poverty, and now, in her place as Princess of Dale, she worked to alleviate the concerns and hardships of her father's people. Dis was unsurprised that such a kind, generous soul had captured the heart of her eldest. Fili had always been the more sensitive one, empathetic to the needs and feelings of others, and wise beyond his years, regardless of his somewhat childish behaviour. He would make an excellent ruler, being more prone to diplomacy than Kili. For all Fili's skill with his twin blades, Kili was the warrior of the two.

Still, the question of Thorin haunted her. He had triumphed in all his tasks, had completed what he'd set out to do and so much more as well, and yet he had lost his very heart and soul when his Hobbit had left him.

She hadn't seen him again that day.

According to Balin and the boys, he worked tirelessly, beginning early in the morning and working late into the night, both physically and mentally, to keep from thinking too hard about what he had lost.

It was brutally unfair, really, that Thorin should gain so much only to lose the most precious thing a Dwarf could have. The love of their One was something each Dwarf yearned for, and something that they would mourn their whole life, if they lost it.

Dis knew the feeling well. If she had not had two small boys to care for after her One had passed, she would have lost herself in her grief. Now that they were grown, she still felt the emptiness where their father had belonged, but she had learned how to live with it.

Thorin had not.

She was determined to catch him tomorrow, and have a good talk with him, to pull him out of his own head, even for a time.

 

* * *

 

Finding him was easier said than done. She'd awoken to a lovely breakfast spread in the dining room, which she shared with her sons and surprisingly, Tauriel. The Elf had been in Dale and had returned to the mountain late the previous evening.

Dis was impressed. Tauriel was rather short, for an Elf, which would only work to her advantage if she intended to live amongst Dwarves, but she was still quite tall. Kili's head barely topped her bosom, although Dis was sure Kili didn't mind that fact very much. She was polite, earnest in her speech and quite reasonable and intelligent.

She was also completely, obviously, utterly devoted to Kili.

When she looked at him, Dis felt her heart ache with longing, for she remembered that look, had seen it in the face of her One, had seen it in both her parents when gazing at each other. She knew it well, and to see it written on the face of an Elf as she gazed at Dis' son...it was unmistakeable.

Kili looked at her the same way, though his face took on another layer, an undercurrent of 'I can't believe my own luck, how on Middle Earth could she possibly love me?' He was so besotted, it was almost comical. Clearly, they were a matched pair. She had given her blessing, there was no way she could possibly deny them. Their love and devotion for each other was palpable.

And strangely enough, Kili's mithril Durin bead looked beautiful in her long, red hair.

She had yet to meet Fili's love, but was assured that she would, and soon. Fili would go down to Dale to fetch her in the morning, having sent a raven to warn of his arrival. In the meantime, Dis set out into the mountain to find her brother. She had looked in his office, the throne room, the treasury office, the forges, the central mining complex, the temporary marketplace, the training yard, the library, the mess hall, even the kitchens, and then she tried the office again.

Her second time looking in Thorin's office, she found Balin again, along with a much more confident looking Ori, who she greeted with affection. She had seen many of the Company during the day, pleased to see them all looking so well and in such high spirits.

“All right, what have you done with my brother?” she asked, after Ori had been sent off to fetch more parchment. “I have been back and forth all over this mountain, in every place I could think of, but he's nowhere to be found.”

“Ahh, he does have a habit of disappearing, when the mood strikes,” Balin said with a nod of understanding. “Whenever I try to find him and can't, I head for the battlements.”

“The battlements? What duty calls him there? Or does he just like to survey his kingdom on a regular basis?” Her Grandfather had liked to do that very thing, but she couldn't imagine Thorin falling prey to such hubris.

“No, although it may look like that for some. Rather, it was the place he was standing when he took in his last sight of Bilbo. He could not bring himself to be there while we bade him goodbye, having said his goodbyes already, and it was late in that day before I found him and coaxed him down.” Balin's face was sad and his eyes held a heaviness in them, as if he regretted that this was a burden he could not carry for his King. “I have often found him there, these past months, staring off towards Dale, as if by stubborn will alone, he could bring the Hobbit back.”

“Ahh,” Dis said, smiling sadly at her friend. “A good place for a talk then.”

“As good as any other. He will be in a more introspective mood, and you may get more than two words out of him.”

“Thank you, Balin,” she said, and left the office.

 

* * *

 

The battlements were completely repaired, looking much as they had during her Grandfather's rule, and sure enough, her brother was there, standing alone, still as the statues that were carved to either side.

“Thorin?” she said quietly as she approached, aching to see the hopeless, wondering look on his face.

“I like to stand up here sometimes,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed emotion. “And think about what he must be doing now. It is the middle of June, and the Shire will be awash in colour, the vegetation bearing fruits and vegetables enough to satisfy the hungriest of Hobbits. I like to think he's happy to be home, having refilled his pantry and renewed his garden, and settled back into his seven meals a day, chubby and jolly, the sleek firmness of a long trial quickly disappearing from his face.”

“It soothes you to think of him thus?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied simply. “He so longed to be home, with his books and his armchair. His garden. I like to think that he's happy there once more, looking every bit the gentle grocer I took him for when we first met.”

“He's a great deal more than that, from what I hear,” Dis said kindly, pleased to hear Thorin speaking. She knew well that it would help to dull the pain.

“He is so very much more,” Thorin said, smiling a sad, heartbroken smile that broke Dis' heart as well. “He's the most extraordinary person I've ever met. I tried to deny it, as I'm sure Balin has told you, but it was plain from the beginning. He captured me completely, body, mind, and spirit. I'd never imagined it could happen that fast. Or that it could be so perfect.”

“Or that it could hurt so much when it ended?” Dis asked softly, her own heart clenching with a familiar pain, in sync with Thorin's.

“How do you bear it?” he asked, turning to her with desolate eyes. “How can I find a way to live like this? With such a horrible, aching hole in my chest? In my life?”

“I don't know, Thorin,” she admitted. “It was Fili and Kili who kept me going when their father died. You'll have to find your own path.”

“You're no help,” he said, his voice sad and affectionate at the same time.

“I'm sorry,” Dis said, moving to pull her brother close, pressing her head against his.

“Thank you,” he replied. They turned and stood looking out over the mountain slopes, new life beginning to sprout on the fields between Erebor and Dale. The city itself looked fresher, new construction and rebuilt structures amidst the remains of destruction. It looked like a city with a fresh take on life.

“Do you think he'll ever come back?” she asked wonderingly. Thorin sighed deeply, turning away from the view, looking back into the mountain.

“No,” he said at last, blinking back moisture. “No, I don't. He was so eager to leave...no, that's not fair. He was eager to go home. He spoke often and fondly of the Shire, of the home he'd made for himself. I've been there, Dis. It is a lovely home, peaceful and idyllic and utterly welcoming. And who am I to begrudge someone their home? After he'd fought so hard and so long to help me regain mine.”

He looked at Dis sadly, reaching out to take her hand and giving it a squeeze. “No, I don't think he'll be coming back. I'll just have to find a way to live with it.”

“I hope you do,” she said, leaning into him affectionately.

“I'm glad you're here, sister mine,” he said, leaning into her as well.

“I'm glad to be here. Now, let's go eat. Chasing you around the mountain is exhausting work, and I'm starving.”


	24. In a Hole in the Ground, There Lived a Hobbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springtime in the Shire is beyond compare. But Bilbo can't keep his mind in the present, and Drogo is starting to wonder how long they can go on like this.

Bilbo woke up in a warm, comfortable bed, with a smattering of sunlight dappling his face. He breathed deeply and stretched his stiff muscles. He had a moment of disorientation, wondering where he was...very few beds on the road were so lovely. He opened his eyes, memories rushing over him as he saw familiar furnishings, and he sat up, looking around.

He was home.

And from the amount of light that filled the room, he'd had quite a lie in. He felt...he wasn't sure how he felt. He was comfortable and well rested, the familiarity of Bag End was a balm on his heart and nerves, and yet it felt like a piece of him was missing.

He heard the whistle of a kettle and the clatter of dishes, and thought that it must be food he was missing. His appetite had taken a hit while travelling, but now he was home and it was back in full force.

Drogo hadn't prepared much for dinner the previous night, but while Bilbo had been bathing, he'd put together a relative feast, and they had dined well, nibbling into the night as they shared gossip and travel tales beside the fire.

Bilbo found himself very grateful to have found Drogo at Bag End. He'd missed his cousin while on the road, and the company took the edge off the loneliness that Bilbo had been feeling, especially since they'd left Rivendell. Having Drogo around was an un-looked for blessing.

Bilbo pulled himself out of bed and put on his robe, which was something else he had missed greatly, although it would not have been a terribly practical have on a long trip. It was warm and cozy, and it made him very glad to be home. He padded to the bathroom before joining Drogo in the kitchen. The smell of frying bacon washed over him, making his stomach rumble.

Drogo laughed, grinning widely at him. “I take it you're hungry? You've been deprived of regular meals for so long, we'll have to get you fed up again, won't we?”

“I must have lost half my body weight while I was away,” Bilbo replied, grinning back.

“You seem to have gained quite a bit of muscle, though. You are lean but you don't look at all unhealthy. Quite the opposite.”

“Why thank you, Drogo,” Bilbo said, sliding onto the bench and pouring himself a cup of tea. “I feel like a completely different Hobbit, I admit. Gandalf warned me that I would not be the same, but I don't think I had any idea just how profound the change would be.”

“You are much more stern now,” Drogo commented. “I don't mean that in the way it sounds...you are also more prone to laugh.”

“The Dwarves are fond of a good joke,” Bilbo told him. “And pranks. And limericks. They tease each other mercilessly, but no one really takes it seriously. They have a great ability to laugh at themselves.”

“That is a trait that that most Hobbits lack.”

“Do they ever,” Bilbo said, rolling his eyes. “Some have even less than others.”

He took the well filled plate from Drogo and tucked right in. They ate in silence, Bilbo wondering if what he'd really missed about the Shire was the food.

“Speaking of humourless harpies,” Bilbo said casually, earning a snort from Drogo.

“What about Lobelia?” he asked, and Bilbo laughed outright.

“Ahh, Drogo, I have missed you,” Bilbo said. “Seriously, though, Holman told me that Lobelia was trying to have me declared dead so she could have Bag End.”

“She is. In fact, she started making noises about it at the end of May last year, but the Thain wouldn't hear of it. She picked it up again at the beginning of September, but she was put off again. Why she thinks getting your grandfather to abandon you is going to work, I have no idea. After that, she tried to bully Holman into letting her in, but he flatly refused.”

“Ugh,” Bilbo groaned, rolling his eyes again. “Lobelia is such a piece of work. She just can't accept that she'll never have Bag End. Ever.”

“Once she realised that she wasn't going to get anywhere with Gerontius or Holman she put up a stink with the Mayor, demanding that the matter be dealt with before Yule. That was around the same time that she found out that I'd been staying here.”

“That could not have been a good thing.”

“Definitely not,” Drogo confirmed. “She was irate, insisting that you would be furious at the gall I showed by daring to stay in your smial while you were gone. Never mind that she was trying to steal it right out from under you. Mr Worrywort had heard you say you were going on an adventure, so we knew that you'd be gone a while. It was repulsive of her to act that way, and everyone was quite disgusted with her behaviour.”

“I can't imagine that many were surprised. If they were, they don't know her very well.”

“Indeed!”

“Drogo, I hope you know that I have absolutely no qualms about you staying here while I was gone. There is a reason I gave you a key, after all. I trust you implicitly, I hope you know that.”

“Thank you Bilbo, I appreciate that. Truthfully, I was sure you wouldn't mind. You've never turned me away from your door, unlike others I might mention.”

“You've never given me a reason to.”

“And I never will.”

 

* * *

 

“So Holman was telling me that you and Prim are getting married on Midsummer's Day,” Bilbo said casually, as they were preparing their lunch.

“Oh,” Drogo said. “You've distracted me with all your stories, I can't believe I've forgotten to tell you.”

“I can't believe it either,” Bilbo said, chuckling at Drogo's stricken look. “You've only been in love with her since you were tweens.”

Drogo beamed. “It's always been Prim, I've never kept that a secret. Thankfully, she's finally decided that she loves me back, so I intend to marry her before she changes her mind.”

“A good idea,” Bilbo agreed.

“We've been thinking about finding a place in Hobbiton, instead of living with her family in Buckland. She's very frustrated with her mother and her interference.”

“Is Aunt Mirabella giving her a hard time?” Bilbo asked. “What about?” he continued, when Drogo nodded in confirmation. “Surely she doesn't disprove of you?”

“She's never come out and said it, but I'm sure she'd rather see Prim married to another Brandybuck, or better yet, a Took, instead of some stuffy Baggins.”

“Please,” Bilbo scoffed. “There's enough Took in that line of Brandybucks to make up for any amount of stuffy Baggins. Has Mirabella forgotten that she is a Took?”

“Exactly!” Drogo exclaimed as they shared a hearty chuckle.

“We're getting married here,” Drogo said. “Prim has been staying with her sister Asphodel. She's a lot less...annoying, when it comes to such things.”

“Ahh, yes. She married Rufus Burrows, didn't she? A very respectable family, the Burrows.”

“Exactly. Mirabella is not fond of them, either.”

“I don't think she's fond of anyone,” Bilbo commented with a snort. “How that woman is related to my mother, I don't know. I remember them getting into a row about it one time. Mirabella disliked my father and disproved of her little sister marrying him. I couldn't figure out why at the time, I was barely a tween, but I'm certain she didn't want to see her adventurous little sister wasted on poor old respectable Bungo Baggins.”

“And yet, she's spoken disdainfully about Belladonna's adventures, and even more of yours,” Drogo said.

“I'm sure Aunt Mirabella is just upset that she lost her sister to a Baggins, and now she's losing her youngest daughter to one as well.”

“And after losing her eldest daughter to a Burrows!”

“I'm sure Mirabella doesn't know just what it is she disapproves of, so she'll just disapprove of anything and everything so as not to miss out. Oh, Eru,” Bilbo said, his hands stilling as he had a ladle of soup halfway to a bowl. Drogo slipped the bowl closer, to catch the drips, shocking Bilbo out of his stupor.

“What?”

“She's Lobelia.”

“Come again?” Drogo asked, confused.

“Or rather, Lobelia is Mirabella. She's the Lobelia of our parent's generation.”

The two looked at each other in stunned silence and then threw back their heads with uproarious laughter. Bilbo had to put down his ladle, and Drogo was slumped over on the bench, holding his sides, trying to stop himself from laughing.

“Just imagine what they would think if we told them...” Drogo said, between gasps for breath. “Mira...bella, she hates Baggins'...”

“And Sackvilles!”

“And Lobelia hates Brandybucks...”

“And Tooks!” they exclaimed together, prompting a fresh round of laughing that ended up with Bilbo clutching the counter to keep himself upright, with Drogo all the way on the floor.

By the time they got to their lunch, the soup had cooled, and needed warming up. They were still chuckling to themselves as they shared a basket of rolls for dipping.

“I can't wait to tell Prim and Dellie,” Drogo said. “They'll have a good laugh, as well.”

“Speaking of the sisters Brandybuck, has Amaranth looked like settling down at all?” Bilbo asked. He thought that perhaps she could marry a Took and distract her mother from Primula's soon to be husband and his unfortunate respectability.

“Not likely,” Drogo said. “She's far too hard headed to settle down.”

“She's quite a bit like her mother, isn't she?” They shared a smile, and Bilbo chuckled a little more, a vision coming into his head of his Aunt Mirabella wearing one of Lobelia's ugly, overdone hats.

“Perhaps there will be less objecting now,” Drogo commented.

“Oh?”

“Now that you've tarnished the the Baggins name by returning from an adventure with a chest full of gold.”

“Yes, the Tooks do rather approve of such things, don't they?” Bilbo said, still chuckling.

“Tacitly, anyway.”

“Well, I'm always happy to help,” Bilbo said cheerfully. “And on that note, perhaps you and Prim will think about coming to live here.”

“Here?” Drogo asked, confused.

“Yes. After the wedding?”

“Bilbo! That would hardly be fair to you! We know how much you value your peace and quiet.”

“Oh tosh,” Bilbo scoffed. “I've spent the last year with a group of rowdy Dwarves and all manner of loud, obnoxious people. You and Prim will hardly be disruptive.”

“We are planning to have children,” Drogo insisted.

“Yes, you and every other couple in the Shire,” Bilbo said. “I welcome it. I like children a great deal more than I like adults, however noisy they are. I believe they will remind me greatly of my Dwarves.”

“Well, I'll have to talk to Primula, but...thank you Bilbo,” Drogo agreed.

“On that note, you should just stay here until the wedding.”

“I'd be glad to stay, as long as Prim stays with her sister.”

“So you'll stay?”

“Yes, I believe I will,” Drogo said, smiling as he pulled a chunk from another bun. They finished their lunch in companionable silence, both pleased to be in the presence of the other.

“Will you ever get married?” Drogo asked suddenly, making Bilbo look up at him in surprise.

“Me?” he asked. “Oh, no. I'm...not disposed to marry.”

Drogo nodded in understanding. “Still not feeling inclined toward the lasses, then?”

“Not a such,” Bilbo admitted. “And I'm not likely to. Definitely not since...” Drogo waited attentively, but Bilbo was silent.

“Not since what?” he prompted, when it became apparent that Bilbo was not going to continue.

Bilbo thought for a moment before speaking, his voice taking on a serious tone.

“You remember how I told you that Thorin and I had been close...from the start of our Quest?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we were...very close.” Bilbo admitted, looking down into his now empty soup bowl.

“How clo...oh,” Drogo said, realising just what Bilbo was implying. “A Dwarf? Really?”

“Yes, well...Thorin is an exceptionally handsome, impressive Dwarf,” Bilbo said, his cheeks heating with the memory of Thorin's eyes and hands on him.

“Wait...Thorin?” Drogo said, his brow furrowed. “Isn't Thorin the King?”

“Um...yes,” Bilbo said, flushing even darker. “Yes, he is.”

“Bilbo,” Drogo said with a smirk. “Well done.”

“Please,” Bilbo said, getting up from the table with his bowl and Drogo's, stalking to the sink and stacking them beside it.

“You're blushing,” his ungrateful fiend of a cousin pointed out.

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“It's nothing,” Bilbo insisted.

“Why did you come back, then?” Drogo asked. “If you'd found such a love? You speak of him with such warmth and enthusiasm, and now to hear that you were lovers. I'm glad you're back, but...I don't understand why you bothered.”

“Because I wasn't in love,” Bilbo said listlessly, his stomach clenching.

“Was he?”

“He...um, yes,” Bilbo said, staring avidly into the sink.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Drogo said, clearly impressed. “Dashing off on an adventure with a group of rowdy Dwarves, battling Orcs and Trolls and dragons, and getting a Dwarf King to fall in love with you? What a story to tell! You'll go down in history.”

“I'll not be speaking of that last part, Drogo, and neither will you.” Bilbo said, turning to glare mildly at his cousin. “You know that such relationships are not approved of in the Shire.”

“I know. I won't say a word, I swear,” Drogo promised. “Except perhaps to Prim.”

“But not Dellie,” Bilbo snapped. “That woman has quite a tongue on her. Half the Shire would know by dinner time.”

“I promise,” Drogo said seriously, holding his hand over his heart.

 

* * *

 

They fell into a rhythm, one that included Prim most of the time, to Drogo's delight. She had rarely visited Bag End before Bilbo came home, mostly because dealing with an overbearing mother was hard enough without throwing rumours about that they had spent much time unchaperoned and behind a closed door. Hobbits were not religious about such strictures, but they were devout enough that there would have been much gossip. So, Drogo had spent most of his time with Prim and her sister, instead.

With Bilbo back, that changed, much to Drogo's pleasure. Bag End was lovely and large, and Bilbo was fine company, mostly. Both of them were eager to hear as many stories as they could convince him to tell. Primula had agreed to come live with them, after the wedding, which made Bilbo terribly happy, for a little while.

But Drogo had noticed that he didn't stay happy. He never stayed happy for long. He threw himself into his gardening with such furor that poor Holman had almost nothing to do, though Bilbo still paid him as much as ever. He also locked himself in his study with his red leather book often, only being tempted out for meals or tea, but even then, Drogo found he was often in an uncommunicative mood, preferring to eat silently and then retreat once more.

Other times he was very happy. It was rather over the top on such days, and Drogo couldn't help but wonder if he wasn't trying too hard. He was chatty and energetic and baked up a storm, often going to the market more than once a day for ingredients. On that kind of day, he would chat excitedly with Holman about his plans for the garden, and with Prim about her plans for the wedding.

Drogo learned, as much as he'd like to hear them, not to ask Bilbo for any more stories of his adventure. Inevitably, such enquiries would turn him introspective again. He would tell the stories, with Prim and Drogo eager to hear them, but always the next day would find him in a dark mood once more, melancholy and irritable.

He went on long walks, sometimes for more than one day at a time, and often sat on the front bench smoking his pipe with a frown, his mind clearly elsewhere. Times like that, Drogo couldn’t get more than a word or two out of him. Sometimes it would last for a week or two, and sometimes for days. There was no telling how long the ups would be, nor how long the downs.

Drogo was feeling dizzy. He had begun to have serious suspicions about the nature of Bilbo's relationship with Thorin. He spoke of the Dwarf King less than he did the rest, and yet, when he finally did, it was with a stark, longing tone that spoke of more than the mild affection Bilbo insisted he felt for his former lover.

Spring turned into summer, coming upon them faster than Drogo was prepared for. It was all slipping by so fast, and yet he was eager to get on with it, as his and Primula's wedding fast approached.

'The Shire is as lush as ever,' Drogo thought one morning in early June, as he stood on the front stoop, looking out over the party field, the Green Dragon and the bustling marketplace across the glimmering water. The view was outstanding. He knew exactly why his Uncle Bungo had chosen to build Bag End here. There was even space remaining in the Hill, for expansion.

He was glad to live here with Bilbo, and even happier that Prim would be joining them soon. Uncle Bungo and Aunt Belladonna had only had the one child, in the end, and Bilbo would not be having any...he hoped that he and Prim could fill the smial with the joyful noises of a half dozen lovely fauntlings.

In the meantime, Drogo's thoughts were turned into the hole behind him, to Bilbo's ever unpredictable moods. He never got mean or vicious, it simply wasn't in Bilbo's nature to act in such a way, but it was clear that he was not happy. For the last several days he had been up early, laughing and joking with Drogo and Prim, baking a batch of cherry scones, or muffins with fresh blueberries or a beautiful apple cake with the last of the previous harvest's apples.

They ate really well when Bilbo was in a good mood. When he was not, Drogo had to do the baking himself, and although he enjoyed it, he wasn't as good at it as Bilbo, and usually ended up buying his pastries and cakes.

“Good morning, Drogo,” Bilbo said as he came out of the green door.

“Morning, Bilbo,” Drogo replied, his thoughts disrupted. He smiled at his cousin, happy that he seemed to be in a good mood still, and wondering how long it would last. He knew they could not go on like this, that Bilbo would never be happy in the Shire now, not since he'd gone east with his Dwarves. The experience had changed him irrevocably. Drogo mourned the fact that in order for Bilbo to be happy, the Shire would lose him.

Drogo would lose him.

And yet, he wanted Bilbo to be happy. The ups and downs of the past few months could only end in sorrow, if Drogo couldn't find a way to wake Bilbo out of his self imposed tunnel vision.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Drogo asked his cousin carefully. “You were up late last night, I noticed.”

“Yes, I found that my study was far too messy to find anything I needed, and thought I'd better clean it up before I could write anything else,” Bilbo replied, tamping down the leaf in his pipe. “Come have a smoke with me?”

“Certainly,” Drogo said. “Although I'll have to fetch my pipe.”

“Pfft,” Bilbo scoffed, grabbing Drogo's wrist and pulling him down the steps toward his favourite bench. “We'll share. We both smoke too much anyway, according to your Prim.”

“Indeed,” Drogo agreed with a laugh, sitting beside Bilbo on the bench and enjoying the view from a different perspective. “Though don't be fooled. She loves a smoke herself, now and then.”

“I've noticed,” Bilbo said, taking a long pull on the pipe and passing it to Drogo. He blew out a few perfectly shaped smoke rings, a skill that Drogo had not the patience to cultivate, himself. Bilbo was exceptional at it.

They smoked the rest of the pipe in silence, and Drogo felt utterly contented, sure that this would be another fine day in the Shire. June was passing, soon it would be Midsummer's day and his wedding. It could not come fast enough.

He passed the pipe back to Bilbo after smoking the last, a soppy smile spreading across his face as he thought of Prim in a flowing flowery dress, her hair adorned with ribbons and the colourful flowers for which she was named. He was truly the luckiest Hobbit in the Shire.

He turned to ask Bilbo if he fancied a trip to the market, hoping they'd run into Prim and Dellie shopping for some last minute wedding related items. They hadn't been spending as much time together, as the wedding drew near. He knew that would change soon enough, but not soon enough for him.

What he saw made the contentment slip away from him, as quickly as the smile had slipped from Bilbo's face. He was frowning at his pipe, lost in contemplation. Perhaps it wouldn't be a sunny day after all. Not inside Bag End, at least.

“Bilbo?” he asked, unsure if he should press or leave him be.

“Hmm?”

“You look very serious, suddenly. What are you thinking of?” Apparently, he was going to press it. Just a little, though. He was at a loss as to how to press Bilbo in the right way to make him see how unhappy he was, so he tried to bring out Bilbo's memories of his Dwarves whenever he had a moment like this, a slice of time between the cheerful moods and the melancholy ones.

“I'm...remembering another time I shared a pipe with a friend. In Rivendell, I shared a pipe with Bofur after Thorin had thrown me out of our room. It was soothing, but I was so torn up that day. Thorin possessed some wicked mood swings back then.”

Drogo held himself back from scoffing. It sounded a lot like Bilbo at the moment.

“Why do you suppose that is?” Drogo asked.

“He was in denial, he'd said.”

“Oh?”

“Afterwards, he'd told me that pretending that the didn't...care about me was making him ornery. I laughed at the time...he was always ornery, but he became less so when he stopped pretending.”

“Did he now?” The similarities were staggering. Bilbo was quiet, so Drogo decided to abandon his line of questioning. He didn't want to push too far, all at once, though something would have to give, soon. They sat in the quiet for a while, until Bilbo stood with a huff, tapping his pipe out on the fence post, watching as the ash fluttered away in the morning breeze.

“I think I'll write for a while,” he said, turning and heading back into the smial, the line of his shoulders tense and burdened.

Drogo knew he'd be going to the market alone. It was unlikely that Bilbo would leave the study until long after nightfall.

 

* * *

 

“What's that?” Drogo asked as he padded into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning. “And why isn't there tea on?” He fumbled to the stove, picking up the kettle and noticing that it was full, although the water was no longer hot. He put it over the heat to boil, and turned, heading to the pantry to find the cinnamon raisin scones that Bilbo had baked the day before.

Bilbo still hadn't moved when Drogo returned, staring at the parchment in his hands, his knuckles white with tension.

“Bilbo?” he asked, setting the plate of scones on the table and grabbing a knife and the butter.

“It's a letter,” Bilbo said, looking at it as if it would explode in his hands.

“Well, that's hardly unusual,” Drogo remarked.

“It came by raven,” Bilbo added, looking up at Drogo in stunned amazement.

“A raven? That's unusual. Who is it from?” Drogo asked around his mouthful of scone.

“It's from Erebor,” Bilbo replied. “From Balin.” He held the letter in clenched fingers, tight enough that Drogo feared he would rip it. He'd already scrunched deep creases into the fine looking parchment.

“Not good news, I take it?” The kettle began to whistle, so Drogo popped the last of his second scone into his mouth and got up to pour the tea. Bilbo still hadn't moved, and he was starting to become concerned.

“I...don't know. It seems both Fili and Kili are courting, though neither of them is settling down with another of their race.”

“That's also unusual, isn't it? But still, a happy thing,” Drogo said, blushing a little, thinking of his own relationship with Prim. The wedding was less than a week away, and he could not be more excited about the prospect. Only Bilbo's melancholy had put a damper on his enthusiasm. He was concerned about his cousin's changeable moods. Bilbo had always been a steady, mellow Hobbit, before he'd gone off east with the Dwarves.

“Happy for them, yes. Tauriel, that's Kili's intended, is an Elf of Mirkwood, and she is a rather exceptional one, I have to say. And Fili's love is Sigrid, she's the eldest daughter of Bard.”

“He's the King of Dale, yes?” Drogo asked, straining to keep all the names organized in his head.

“He will be yes, or perhaps he is already, so much time has passed. I'm sure Dale is well into the rebuilding efforts by now,” Bilbo replied almost absentmindedly, his focus clearly split, the confusion on his face very evident.

“What else, then? You don't look very happy.”

“I...I'm confused,” Bilbo said, staring at the parchment once more, brows drawn in a deep frown. “Balin says that Thorin is negotiating a political marriage. To alleviate the pressures on Fili to produce a worthy heir.”

Drogo winced, although he tried to keep it off his face. On the other hand, this might be just what was needed to wake Bilbo up.

“And that's not a good thing? Sounds noble to me, although fathering an heir wouldn't be a sacrifice, in my opinion. But, you don't think it's good news?”

“I...no. I don't know,” Bilbo said, and Drogo noted that he seemed to be stumbling over his words, as if he couldn’t quite parse his own thoughts.

“Is it good news to hear that the person you'd spent the better part of a year with, whose friendship means everything to you...who you built up a relationship with...is going to marry someone else?”

“Isn't it?” Drogo prompted, the sleep clearing completely from his brain as he prepared a cup of tea for himself, and one for Bilbo. It appeared that his suspicions were proving correct. Bilbo cared a great deal more for Thorin, much more, than he'd been willing to admit. Drogo was convinced, based on his reaction to the letter, that Bilbo was in love with Thorin. The hard part was convincing Bilbo of that fact.

“Isn't it good that he's getting married? After all, you ended your relationship when you came home. Didn't you?” Drogo set Bilbo's tea in front of him and picked up his own, watching Bilbo carefully over the rim as he took a sip.

“Yes, but...you don't understand, Drogo,” Bilbo said, putting the letter down and smoothing it against the table.

“No, I don't,” Drogo replied. “If you didn't want to be with him, then why begrudge him the love of another?”

“Because he promised that he loved me!” Bilbo said, pushing away from the table with such force that his tea cup rattled, slopping some of its contents onto the table. Drogo watched him stalk to the little window above the sink that overlooked the Row, his shoulders tense.

“Well, then perhaps you should write him a letter explaining your thoughts?” Drogo knew that he would have to tread lightly here, but Bilbo was acting like a fool, all his introspection spent on others, on histories and tales, but it seemed he couldn't use those same powers of observation to unravel his own heart.

“No, Drogo, don't be absurd,” Bilbo said, scoffing, moving away from the window to pace the small room, waving his hands about in rough gestures that made plain his discomfiture. “How would that letter even go? Dear Thorin, King of Erebor. Greetings from the Shire. I've heard that you plan on settling down and getting married, and I demand to know how you can abide such a proposal, when not half a year ago, you had sworn your undying love to me. I must insist that you break off any such engagement or contract. You simply cannot marry someone else because...”

He stopped and stood as still as a statue, his face the picture of revelation, evidence of a great truth spreading across it.

'Now I've got him,' Drogo thought, prompting Bilbo one last time. “Because?”

“Because...I love you. I love, I...I love him.”

Bilbo turned to look at Drogo, his eyes wide with astonishment.

“How could I have missed...why did I...” he paused, closing his mouth with a click and staring at Drogo with desperate eyes.

“What am I doing here?” he asked, and Drogo could not give him an answer. He didn't think that Bilbo needed one, at any rate. He was correct, as Bilbo continued on without any input from Drogo.

“What am I doing here, Drogo? Why did I leave him? How could I not have seen?” he stopped speaking, leaning on the table, resting his shaky hands on the sturdy wood planks.

Drogo knew what was coming. It was the only thing, really, that would ensure Bilbo's happiness, and that mattered to Drogo more than anything except his Prim. He would miss the cousin who had become his best friend, but Bag End was not where Bilbo belonged anymore. He belonged with a Dwarven King, far to the east, who, if Drogo was any judge of character, was even now missing Bilbo desperately.

Bilbo looked up at last, his jaw set, leaving Drogo was struck by a bittersweet joy.

“I'm going back,” he said, his eyes alight with a fire that Drogo had not seen since before he'd left.

Bilbo was alive again, and Drogo knew that he would pull down the very stars themselves, if that's what it took to get back to his Dwarf.

 

* * *

 

'It is a lovely, fine day for travelling,' Bilbo thought to himself cheerfully as he double checked his cart and the pony, whom he had promptly named Marigold, to make sure everything was ready. Primula and Drogo had been married the day before, and Bilbo had spent the entire affair in the best of moods, a much better mood than he'd been in lately.

It had been a week since he'd received the letter from Balin that had changed everything.

He'd realised, now that his head was clear and his own feelings were revealed to him, that he'd been as ornery and unpredictable as Thorin had been before admitting his own feelings, and Drogo had confirmed it. Bilbo shook his head, wondering how he could have been so blind for so long. If only he'd figured it out earlier, he could have saved himself a lot of travelling.

Dwarves clearly did not have the market on stubborn hardheadedness cornered. That, or they had rubbed off on Bilbo during their time together.

And now he was going back. Going home. For he had come to accept that he would never be home, unless Thorin was with him. He only hoped that he wasn't too late.

“All set?” Drogo asked, his bright grin matched by the one worn by his new wife, who stood beside him, their fingers entwined.

“Yes, I think so. I've walked through the smial more than once, so I think I'm ready.”

“I still can't believe you're going back,” Prim said, letting go of Drogo to hug Bilbo tightly. “We'll miss you.”

“And I will miss you as well, Mrs. Baggins,” he said with a smirk, chuckling at the blush that bloomed across Primula's cheeks.

“Oh, stop,” she said, her eyes bright but filled with moisture. “Take care of yourself, Bilbo.”

“I will,” he said. “I'm going home at long last, Prim. I'll be fine as soon as I can get there.”

“Don't forget about us once you're won back your Dwarf,” Drogo said, tugging Prim back and taking her place, embracing Bilbo heartily. “Send us letters, and let us know how things are going.”

“Only if you promise to do the same. I will send a raven as often as I can,” he replied, looking at them both with teary eyes. “I'll want to know how the baby making is progressing.” Both his cousins blushed fiercely at that, still caught in the first flushes of wedded bliss.

“I still can't believe you've left us Bag End,” Prim said, wiping away a tear.

“It's an ideal wedding present. As if I could bear to part with it to anyone else. Besides, you both have a claim on it, Prim, with you being my first cousin and Drogo a second. Much more of a claim than Otho and Lobelia,” he said, making a face that had both his cousins laughing.

“Besides, there's always been a Baggins living here, under the Hill, at Bag End. And now, there always will be.”

“We thought, if we have a boy, we'll name him Frodo,” Drogo said, beaming widely.

“A wonderful name!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Frodo Baggins. I hope to hear news of him soon.”

He hugged his cousins one more time, taking a long look up at his childhood home, the round, green door, the lovely garden, the beautiful oak that draped over the Hill. He had such lovely, wonderful memories there, but it was time to let it go. Everything had changed when a ragtag group of Dwarves had invaded it that night over a year ago. They had changed him for good. And now he was going back to them. Back to Thorin.

He smiled, climbing up onto the cart and taking the reins in hand, settling the bundle of baked goods that Holman had gifted him with that morning, and turned to wave, one last time, at his cousins, his home, at his life in the Shire. He realised that this had been a long time in coming, that it had been inevitable the first time he'd looked into Thorin's beautiful blue eyes, the first time they'd kissed, the first touch of their skin. The first time he'd heard Thorin's voice raised in song. The first time Thorin had called him amralime, had said that he loved him.

He'd put this off for far too long. It was time to go home.


	25. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does what it say on the tin. That is all.

Erebor was even more amazing now than Bilbo could ever have imagined. The gates had been painstakingly re-crafted in the ten months he'd been gone, now looking as solid as if they'd never been destroyed at all. As the line of merchants, soldiers, and travellers drew closer, Bilbo found himself entranced, completely and utterly amazed at what Thorin and the others had accomplished here. He couldn't wait to see the inside.

When he'd left, they had only just begun clearing the debris from the gate and the first hall, surveys were being done to establish the stability of every aspect of the mountain, and plans drawn up to reorder the layout or rebuild on existing foundations, as needed.

Soon, they were there. Bilbo's little cart looked rather out of place beside the larger carts of the men from Dale, even in comparison to those driven by Dwarves. He received plenty of stares, and was stopped by a guard almost as soon as he'd guided the pony inside.

“Market?” the Dwarf asked, and Bilbo nodded blankly, not knowing what else to say. What do you say when you've come from your home with all your prized possessions, to steal the King away from his potential betrothed?

The guard gestured him to the right, where various hand and animal drawn carts were disappearing through a large archway. He nodded again and followed them, thinking that it would be a good place to start. If he could find a stall for his pony and a place to store his cart until he knew if he'd be staying, then he could get on with his plan.

It wasn't a very intricate plan. It consisted mainly of 'find Thorin and tell him I love him'. Bilbo was self aware enough to realize that he was no great hand at strategy, and yet he hadn't been self aware enough to realize that he was stupidly in love with Thorin until the thought of him with another had shattered Bilbo's well ordered denial.

“Name?” Bilbo looked over to find another Dwarf beside his cart, holding a clipboard and looking like the kind of person Bilbo would need in order to find a place to leave his things.

“Underhill,” he replied, smiling down at the record keeper as he jotted Bilbo's fake name on a chart. He wasn't sure how to go about finding Thorin, but he didn't want a big fuss, either, and was worried that the name Bilbo Baggins would raise far too much fuss.

“You've not been here before, have you?” he was asked, and Bilbo found he could do nothing but answer honestly.

“Umm, yes, I have. I mean, I've been here in Erebor, but no, not to the market. It's been a long time since I was here. Things are very different.”

“There have been a lot of changes made since King Thorin retook the mountain,” the Dwarf said.

“I can imagine,” Bilbo said, grinning as he took in the large room. There were alcoves all down both walls, with stalls for livestock and room for carts and wagons.

“When were you last here?”

“Oh, it's been a while...I wasn't here for long.” Bilbo realized quickly that, if he was going to find Thorin sooner rather than later, he'd have to keep quiet and about who he was and what he was here to do. Eru knew, if he spoke up, there would be chaos as one of the Company members was found and brought, and then there'd be greetings and explanations demanded and a whole rigamarole. He just needed to find Thorin. Fast.

“You can park your cart in spot number twenty-three,” the Dwarf said, handing him a piece of paper with his name and the slot number on it, and a brief description of his cart. “There will be another scribe coming around soon, who will take stock of what you have and tell you where best to set up when the market opens tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said, giving the Dwarf a smile, moving on quickly and finding his spot. He wasted no time in unhooking Marigold and getting her settled with some water and grain to munch. He made certain the cart was secure before looking down the other end of the room, cavern really, and noticing another large archway which no doubt led further back into the mountain. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd find there, or if the roads and paths were laid out as he remembered, but he had to take the chance. Time to reach down for the last remaining dregs of his courage and accomplish what he was there to do.

The doors lead to a large roadway that stretched from one end of the mountain to the other, and Bilbo choose the direction he knew would lead him into the heart of the mountain. Towards the throne room. It was a gamble...Thorin could be any number of places at the moment, but Bilbo believed in instinct, and his instinct told him that Thorin was in the throne room.

He wasn't terribly surprised that he found the way quickly. What surprised and amazed him was how utterly beautiful the mountain looked. There was almost no trace of Smaug left in the place, sight or smell. The mountain was vibrant with colour and life, alive with the noises and sights of the people inhabiting it. Bilbo felt a surge of pride for Thorin rush through him. To have accomplished so much in so short a time was...extraordinary.

'He must have thrown himself into the work,' Bilbo thought, knowing that it was a very Thorin thing to do, and realizing with a sudden clarity that Thorin would have worked himself into the ground to keep busy. To forget that Bilbo had left him.

His head spun with the implications...to know that he'd caused such pain to the one he loved, even inadvertently...it was too much to take in. It was all too much to take in. He stopped, feeling dizzy and faint, bending over and bracing himself with hands on his knees.

“Are you okay?” A hand touched his shoulder gently, the concerned voice clearly female, and Bilbo looked up, wondering. He'd never seen a female dwarf before, and he was surprised to find her rather lovely, beard and all. Her features were rather delicate with a fine fall of facial hair from her jawline, and her eyes were a deep blue that reminded him of Thorin.

“It's all rather overwhelming, isn't it?” he remarked, standing up and finding that the weakness had passed. He was grateful for the distraction, but a part of him wished that he hadn't left the Ring in Bag End, that he hadn't passed it onto Drogo with the rest of his things. He could do with some invisibility just then.

“Erebor is fantastic, that's certain,” she agreed, smiling at him. “I've never seen a creature of your kind before, are you new here?”

“Yes, oh...no, I've been here before, but not for almost a year. It's very different.” Bilbo found himself telling her more than perhaps he should, she was polite and seemed concerned for him, and perhaps she would be willing to help him even more.

“Oh, indeed...last year it was a pale reflection of its former self. But now, well, you can see how hard King Thorin and his people have worked to bring our home back to glory.”

“He must be a great king,” Bilbo offered, knowing it was true. Thorin was good at whatever he set his mind to. And Bilbo had witnessed how excellent an administrator he was, before he'd...before he'd left.

“Indeed. I was just heading to the throne room to watch the proceedings, would you like to accompany me, Master?”

“Oh, um, just call me Drogo,” he said, hoping his cousin wouldn't mind Bilbo pilfering his name. “Thank you, that's very kind. I'd love to walk with you.”

She returned his smile and indicated the direction they were to walk in. It was the route Bilbo would have chosen, and he congratulated himself silently for remembering the way.

“My name is Nola,” she said. “My family moved to the Grey Mountains when the dragon came, but once we'd heard that Thorin Oakenshield had retaken the mountain and reestablished the kingdom, I had to come back. I wasn't very old when we left...”

Bilbo let Nola chatter as they walked, it wasn't a very long way, but it was nice to have something to distract him from the immediacy of what he was going to do. Something was niggling at his mind, something she had said. Proceedings. Was it a usual thing for people to gather and watch regular court proceedings, or was it...something special?

“I'm sorry, Nola...but you mentioned the proceedings? What is going on exactly?” he interjected, unable to wait to find out. He needed to know what he was getting into.

“Oh, it's dispute day,” she said cheerfully. “One day a week King Thorin opens up the court to meet with any who have a dispute or a request to bring before the king. Sometimes it's fairly sedate, but sometimes it can be quite rowdy.”

“Oh, I can't imagine a group of hot tempered Dwarves becoming rowdy,” Bilbo remarked with a chuckle, his heart lightening with the knowledge that today was just any other day in Erebor. In fact, it was the best day for him to arrive. Today, the King was accessible to the common folk.

“We watch from here,” Nola said, turning Bilbo down a narrow archway and into a long balcony that ran, apparently, the entire length of the throne room. He gasped when he saw the view. They were toward the back end of the massive cavern, above the enormous stone figures that were carved into the room. It had been completely refurbished. It was brilliantly lit and, amazingly, the echoes were shaped in such a way that Bilbo could actually hear what was being said, if he listened carefully. He didn't recognize the voice, but he looked to the front of the room and saw a rough looking Dwarf on the dais, gesturing as he spoke to his king.

To Thorin.

There he was, majestic and powerful looking and as heartrendingly beautiful as he'd been when Bilbo had seen him last. As beautiful as he'd been when he'd walked into Bilbo's well ordered life and turned it upside down. His clothes were fine and regal, the dark blue of Durin's line proudly on display. The crown he wore was new, not the heavy gold and obsidian crown of Thror, but a lighter looking silver one, woven in the shape of Thorin's own signet.

He looked...hard. And while he wore an expression of interest and compassion, Bilbo could see through it. He knew that face, more than he knew any other, including his own. He could see, very plainly, that Thorin was miserable. Bilbo felt faint again, knowing that he had something to do with that...that he was responsible for putting that look on Thorin's face.

It was time to take it off.

“Nola, thank you very much,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it, to her astonishment. “You've brought me exactly where I needed to be.”

“But, where are you going?” she asked when Bilbo turned, heading toward the staircase at the back of the balcony, the staircase he just knew led down to the throne room proper.

“I've got an appointment with the king!” he called over his shoulder, leaving her and the others on the balcony in bewilderment.

It was the work of a moment to pound down the stairs and cross to the pathledge that led to the main approach to the throne. There were quite a few Dwarves lined up there, some carrying items, some with nothing, all of them waiting patiently in line to see Thorin. There were a lot of them. Bilbo could not wait.

There were royal guards scattered along the path, but none on the main causeway that led to the throne. Bilbo knew he could make it. He was fast and agile, and the guards were in armour. He could make it.

He took a deep breath, sent a prayer to Aule, asking that, if he had indeed carved Bilbo to be Thorin's, that he would give Bilbo this. That he would help Bilbo come home.

He opened his eyes, waited for the nearest guard to turn, and ran, grateful that the travel had once again carved off the softness he'd regained during his time in the Shire. He ran past a long line of stunned people and around a guard, who reached out for him too late. He took the stairs two steps at a time, ignoring the shouted Khuzdul behind him as he shot down the long path leading to the throne. To his King.

The shouts were ahead of him now, and he was closer, until suddenly he was dashing to the side and shooting past the guards at the bottom of the stairs and then there he was, skidding to a stop, panting and terrified, but he didn't care. Thorin was not ten feet away from him, his well practised look of platitude was gone, in its place was one of shock and disbelief. Bilbo noted in some part of his brain that Fili was calling the guards off, as Thorin's attention was fixed on him.

Good. He had things to say.

“Don't get married!” Bilbo cried, his voice much squeakier than he'd ever thought it could be. He took another breath and willed himself to calm down. This was coming out wrong.

“Bilbo!” Thorin breathed, clutching the arms of his throne with a white knuckled grip.

“Don't get married,” Bilbo repeated, looking at last into the face he'd missed every day that he'd been gone. “Don't...just don't, please! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Thorin, I should never have left!” Now that he'd begun, the words rushed out of him, unpractised, straight from his foolish heart to Thorin's.

“I know it's not right...it's not right for me to come back now, not when I left you the way I did, but I was a fool, Thorin. Such a bloody fool! More of a fool than you'd ever been, because even when you were acting like an ass, at least you knew your mind! At least...at least you knew your own heart.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said again, louder this time, his disbelief giving way to joyous astonishment. But Bilbo wasn't done, he had so much more to say.

“I've no claim on you, I know it. But I, I don't care. I love you! I love you and I was such an idiot. I went back to Bag End, and I told myself that I only missed the sex, because I wasn't in love with you, was I? I only missed your company, the same as I missed Bofur and Balin and all the rest, but it wasn't true. It wasn't the same.

“And I distracted myself by digging in the garden and telling tales to Drogo and Primula, and pestering that hag Lobelia and my coward of a cousin, and I told myself every day that I didn't miss you. That I wanted to be there, that Bag End was my home, but it wasn't. I'd spent the whole quest longing to be home, to be back at Bag End, only to find out that it wasn't home anymore. My home is here, no, not even here, it's you, Thorin Oakenshield! It's wherever you are, be it Erebor or the Blue Mountains, or a bedroll on the side of the Great East road...it doesn't matter where, because it's you. It was you I missed and it was you I thought of, every day and every night.”

He took a step closer, knowing that every Dwarf in the massive hall, and there were many of them, was hearing every word he said, and he knew, if Thorin threw him out, he'd have only himself to blame, but this was his chance, and by Eru, he was going to take it with both hands and squeeze the life out of it.

“I think I needed to go back the The Shire. If only so that I'd know, for real, forever, that I don't belong there anymore. But it took Balin's letter to wake me up, when he said you were going to get married, I knew then, that I had screwed everything up so horribly. I knew that, even if you didn't want me anymore, that I at least had to tell you. You can't marry someone else, Thorin. You can't. Marry me instead! Because I love you. And I gave Bag End to Drogo and Prim, and I sold away all my things and I came here as fast as I could, because I needed to tell you. You needed to know that I...I need you to be whole, Thorin, I need to be with you to breathe properly, I...”

Bilbo stopped, robbed of air for a long moment, because Thorin hadn't moved, and his face hadn't changed, and it was so quiet in the room that they could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

“Thorin,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion, as despair and hope battled within him. “Amralime, please. Tell me I'm not too late. Please, just...say something, Thorin.”

“Who can say anything when you go off on a rant?” Thorin said at last, just when Bilbo was certain that he was too late. Thorin's voice was deep and amused, and so very, very welcome. “No one can get a word in edgewise.”

“I...I'm done now,” Bilbo replied, his breath catching, his stomach in his throat.

“Good,” Thorin said, standing up at last and moving toward Bilbo with a feral grace that Bilbo had almost forgotten. He loomed, massive and strong over Bilbo, but his face, his striking blue eyes were filled with all the love and hope that was no doubt reflected in Bilbo’s own. He reached out tentatively and touched Bilbo's arm, his fingers sliding down to grasp Bilbo's hand and pull him closer.

“I can't kiss you when you're talking.”

Then he was there, right in front of Bilbo, and suddenly he was in Thorin's arms again and Bilbo knew he was where he belonged. Finally.

Thorin pulled him close, lifting him up and kissing him, devouring his mouth with fierce desperation, a need that Bilbo returned just as fervently. He wrapped his arms around Thorin's neck, all control cracking apart as he grabbed Thorin's hair greedily, kissing him deep enough to make up for the last ten months they'd been apart. His legs lifted of their own accord, wrapping around Thorin's waist in a motion that had once been second nature to him.

Thorin's hands were roaming his back, one settling under his rear to pull him closer, the other pulling at his hair in the way that never stopped Bilbo's blood from surging with desire. They pulled back at last, resting their foreheads together, and suddenly Bilbo realized that, where before the hall had been silently waiting for Thorin's answer, it was now a cacophony of cheers and applause.

“Amralime,” Thorin whispered into Bilbo's lips, tears streaking his face. “You came back to me.”

“Of course I did, you ridiculous Dwarf,” Bilbo said in reply, wondering if his heart could actually burst from happiness. “I'm your One. I was made for you, and you for me. I was lost without you.”

“And I without you,” Thorin told him, pulling back for just a moment before burying his face in Bilbo's neck and crying, wetting Bilbo's skin and collar, but he didn't care. His eyes were not exactly dry at that moment, either.

Suddenly they were laughing, Thorin's chest shaking with glee, and it was catching...it caught Bilbo by surprise, and he laughed too, pulling back to look at his beloved with tear filled eyes. Finally, he was home. Thorin spun him in a circle before pulling back and setting him on his feet again, his arms still wrapped around Bilbo, as if he'd never let go. Bilbo didn’t want him to.

“Don't hog him, Uncle!” yelled a voice and suddenly he was torn out of Thorin's arms and wrapped up in Kili's. He laughed harder and hugged Kili back, but when he pushed him away he found himself in another embrace, this one a bit less exuberant, but no less emotional.

“We've missed you!” Fili said, pulling back far enough to lean his forehead into Bilbo's, thankfully without bashing his brains out.

“I've missed you, too,” Bilbo said, smiling at Fili and his brother, who was practically bouncing with excitement.

“Look Balin, it's Bilbo!” Kili exclaimed, and Bilbo wondered if somethings would never change.

“Yes, I can see that, lad,” Balin said, waiting patiently for Fili to release Bilbo before embracing him as well. Bilbo was starting to feel dizzy, and wondered if anyone else was going to grab him or if he could escape back into Thorin's arms.

“Welcome back, Bilbo,” Balin said when he'd let go. “We all missed you. Thorin mostly, of course.”

Bilbo turned his head to find Thorin but a large, fur covered chest was blocking his sight.

“Bilbo!” Dwalin bellowed, clearly unfamiliar with the term 'inside voice'. He leaned in and whacked Bilbo's head with his, in an affectionate but much too enthusiastic manner for Bilbo. He rubbed his head and scowled up at the culprit.

“It's lovely to see you too, Dwalin,” he said,

“All right, back up, let him go,” Thorin demanded, pushing Dwalin aside roughly and taking Bilbo's hand, pulling him back toward the throne. “He's here to see me, I didn’t hear any of your names mentioned in his little spiel, did you?”

“I heard my name,” Balin remarked blandly, giving Bilbo a wink.

“Aye, and I'll need to have a little talk with you about posting deliberately misleading letters to my loved ones.”

“Pfft. I only sent the one. And it had the desired result, as you see in front of you.”

“I do,” Thorin said, holding both of Bilbo's hands and beaming at him. “Thank you Balin.”

“You're welcome. And congratulations are no doubt to be in order, very soon, but until then, there's a small matter of the proceedings?”

Thorin sighed, shaking his head, but agreeing. “You're right, Balin. As usual.”

He pulled Bilbo closer, picked him up without warning and kissed him silly, all while walking. He stopped after a moment and then pulled back, letting go, surprising Bilbo by seating him on the throne. Was that even allowed?

Thorin beamed at him before turning around to stand in front of him, surveying the assembly before stepping forward to speak.

“As all of you are witness, I have just this moment received an offer of marriage from Bilbo, son of Bungo, grandson of Gerontius, Thain of the Shire, and I have willingly and most eagerly accepted. Given our impromptu reunion, I am deferring all disputes and requests to the wisdom and judgement of Fili, Crown Prince of Erebor.”

“Uncle, please,” Fili said, pleading with his eyes. “I've missed Bilbo, too.”

“And you will go on missing him, until at least tomorrow. And so will you, Kili,” Thorin added when Kili couldn't hold back a laugh at his brother. “You'll be right beside Fili, to offer your support.” Bilbo laughed at Kili's frown, noting that no matter what had changed, there were some things he could count on.

Thorin turned, reached out for Bilbo's hand and pulled him down off the throne, ignoring the questions and shouts from the Hall as he pulled Bilbo towards the side door.

“Wait,” Bilbo said, turning and finding Balin in the group. “Balin! All my things are with my pony down by the gates. Spot twenty-three, can you make sure it's all cared for?”

“Consider it done, my friend,” Balin said, giving Bilbo a wink.

Bilbo turned again, and began tugging Thorin toward the door. “Come on, will you? We've a ten months of quality time to make up for!”

Thorin followed without complaint, his eyes fixed with a look that Bilbo hadn't seen in far too long. They had a lot of catching up to do.

 

* * *

 

The door crashed open, but Thorin was well beyond caring. All that mattered to him in that moment was the Hobbit in his arms. The world around them had become a blur, a nuisance to be overcome before they could come together. Finally, at long last, Bilbo was in his arms where he belonged. Thorin didn't want to waste a second.

“The door, the door,” Bilbo urged, though as soon as they were through it he had wrapped his legs around Thorin's waist, arms already locked around his neck, tugging at Thorin's hair as he always had when he was impatient.

It had been so, so very long.

Thorin obeyed, using his foot to slam the door shut behind them, one arm around Bilbo's back, hand in his hair, the other clutching his backside for support, as well as need. Not that it made a difference, as Bilbo was stuck to him tighter than a leech.

Then their mouths meet again, wet, sloppy kisses of joy and heady, overwhelming desire. Bilbo's hands were on the back of his head, holding him close, unwilling to let them part even an inch.

Thorin fell to his knees, unable to hold them both up, his body shaken with such furious aching that he felt weak, helpless. Bilbo was like a wild thing in his arms, panting breaths between desperate kisses, his hips twisting and pushing to get any leverage he could find.

Thorin was not much better off, his need a constant pulse under his skin, every moment of Bilbo against him bringing him closer to spending in his trousers like a Dwarfling.

Bilbo's hands had left his head and were pushing at his robes, slipping them away over Thorin's shoulders, and Thorin was not about to stop him. A thought niggled in his mind, but he couldn't parse it, so he went along with Bilbo's unspoken demand, unwrapping himself from Bilbo only as long as it took to slide off the heavy outer robe, sitting back on his heels to gain better access to Bilbo's clothing, intent on making short work of it. Bilbo was all but sitting in his lap now, bringing their groins together, the pressure and friction a balm to his healing soul, even while it inflamed his aching cock.

He'd come back. Bilbo had come back for him. He had declared his love in front of the entire court and kingdom. He'd asked Thorin to marry him, and Thorin had accepted, eagerly. It was like a dream.

“Thorin, more,” Bilbo demanded, his fingers catching a the buckle that held Thorin's inner robe closed, but Thorin distracted him with another kiss, using Bilbo's surprise to pull his jacket off, tossing it to the side in a rustle of fabric.

“Before you get any more undressed, perhaps you'd like to take this into your bedchamber?”

Thorin jumped, that niggling thought from moments earlier had formed together in his brain instantly as his hands lost their hold on Bilbo, who slid from his lap, landing on the floor with a thump. His eyes were wide with surprise, his cheeks red with mortification, as well as some serious beard burn.

Thorin closed his eyes and prayed for strength, reaching out to pull Bilbo to his feet before looking up to face the owner of the voice.

“Dis,” he said stiffly. He was supremely uncomfortable as even the presence of his little sister was not enough inducement to kill his erection, not with Bilbo being so close at hand after such a very long time apart.

“So, this must be Bilbo,” Dis said, striding toward the pair with a mischievous grin that set Thorin's teeth on edge. Dis wearing that grin was never a good thing.

“I must admit, I am surprised. But I would like to be introduced before you throw him down and make love to him on the sitting room floor. If you don't mind, Thorin.” She raised an imperious brow, and Thorin was suitably chastened. She sounded so like their mother at times, which was a terrifying prospect.

“Yes, I...” Thorin began, glancing at Bilbo, who looked like he was wishing the ground would crack open and swallow him whole, and considering their experiences in the Goblin tunnels, that was saying something.

“Dis, Princess of Erebor,” Thorin said, pulling Bilbo closer when he'd tried to move away, thinking that he would have to kill Balin for whatever he had written to Bilbo, as Thorin suspected that he thought Dis was someone else entirely.

“My annoying and ever inappropriate sister,” he continued. “You can see where Fili and Kili get their tact.” Thorin gave her his most commanding glare, but she only scoffed

“Fili has plenty of tact,” she replied.

“Clearly he got it from his father.”

“Don't think trying to remind me that you are King Under the Mountain will make me go any easier on you, Thorin Oakenshield. We both know who really rules this kingdom, don't we?”

“Balin?” Bilbo piped up, to the surprise of them both. Dis' mouth dropped open in shock, and then she threw her head back and laughed so hard that Thorin could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes.

“I like him, Thorin,” she said when she had regained her composure.

“Yes, well, he's very likeable,” Thorin agreed with a grin, letting his hand drift to the back of Bilbo's neck, his fingers slipping into the soft curls at the back of his head.

“Dis, this is Bilbo Baggins, formerly of the Shire.”

“Lovely to meet you at last, Master Burglar,” Dis said, coming close enough to put a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, pressing her forehead to his in a familiar greeting. Thorin was stunned and pleased, she was treating him as if he was already family.

“Thank you,” Bilbo replied, looking as stunned as Thorin felt.

“My brother and sons have done nothing but talk of you since I arrived home,” she commented. “As has Balin.”

“That is a gross over exaggeration,” Thorin said, but Dis ignored him, as usual.

“I thought you had gone back to the Shire for good,” she said.

“I thought so too,” Bilbo admitted, turning to look at Thorin, slipping an arm around his waist and snuggling closer. Thorin smiled down at him, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

“But then I realised that I had been a fool, and that I was stupidly in love with this ridiculous brute. What else could I do but come back? Come home.” He beamed up at Thorin, making his heart skip a beat as he returned the smile, the fire in Bilbo's eyes no doubt matching his own.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said softly, cupping his cheek and kissing him lightly. “I still can't believe you came back to me.”

“I'm never leaving you again,” Bilbo said, turning and wrapping his arms around Thorin's neck, holding him in a tight embrace. Thorin returned it wholeheartedly, burying his face into Bilbo's rowdy curls.

“Well, I can see when I'm not wanted,” Dis said, her voice soft, a matching smile on her face. “Just please, Thorin, take him to your room before undressing him anymore? Fili and Sigrid and Kili live here, too, remember.”

And then she was gone and they were alone. Thorin smiled down at the Hobbit in his arms, taking it all in, the travel smudged face and messy hair, worn clothes and bright, bright eyes.

“I love you more than life itself, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo said, brushing his fingers over Thorin's beard, which was still short and neatly trimmed. The grief and loss of Erebor had been replaced with the grief of losing Bilbo, and Thorin had thought that he'd never sport a long beard again, much to the chagrin of his clansmen. But now...now he would grow it out. Now his joy was complete.

“I love you, Bilbo Baggins. Since the first moment our eyes met, I have been lost. My life will never be complete without you.”

“Nor mine without you,” Bilbo agreed. “I tried that, and it didn't work. I was utterly miserable in the Shire.” He pulled Thorin down for another kiss. “But now, I think we should follow your sister's advice and retire to your room.”

“If you insist,” Thorin said, picking Bilbo up by the waist and carrying him in the direction of his bedchamber.

 

* * *

 

They crashed through the bedroom door much in the same way they had entered the sitting room, only this time, Bilbo's legs were already wrapped around Thorin's waist and they'd made a start at undressing each other.

“There's...ah...no more doors,” Bilbo panted between kisses, driving Thorin crazy. “Are there?”

“No, no more doors,” Thorin growled, turning and pressing Bilbo into the one they'd just come through. “Now stop talking and kiss me.”

“You're the one...” Bilbo began, but he didn't finish, as Thorin swept down and kissed him thoroughly, taking advantage of his already open mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, his cock aching to do the same. He was throbbing painfully, his time without Bilbo had been rather lacking in orgasms, the few times he'd given in were perfunctory and filled with painful memories, but now...now Bilbo was in his arms again, as greedy for Thorin's kisses as he ever was.

Thorin broke away with a groan, latching onto Bilbo's neck instead, his eyes rolling back with the sheer pleasure, the taste of Bilbo on his tongue, the smell of him filling Thorin's nose, the insistent tugging on his hair. It was making him insane, the rush of desire, spurred on by Bilbo's hips rubbing them together, his legs so tight around Thorin's waist that he may end up with bruises.

He didn't care. He sucked harder, scraping his teeth over Bilbo's skin until he'd absorbed all the salt he could, moving on to the next patch, desperate for as much of him as he could get. He held Bilbo's head still with a hand in his hair, using the door to brace Bilbo so that his other hand could tug his shirt from his trousers, until there was enough room to push inside. He gasped as the smooth skin of Bilbo's ass clenched under his groping hand, his hips pushing harder, rhythm lost in the chaos of the moment, barely registering that Bilbo had all but ripped his tunic in half, unable to pull it up and over.

He was not going to last like this...it had been too long, too many months since he'd tasted this skin, since he'd felt the slight bones of Bilbo's frame, deceptive in their strength.

“Thorin,” Bilbo whined, one hand tugging his hair, the prickles of pain shooting from his scalp right to his cock, making him harder still. “Thorin...not gonna...please,” Bilbo begged.

“Bilbo,” Thorin gasped, the sound of his name on Bilbo's lips...the sound of Bilbo's name on his, it was too much, too much with everything else that he was feeling. Bilbo's hand had slid into his shirt, clutching his back, and when his blunt nails dug into Thorin's skin, that's when he lost it. He did as he'd predicted and came in his trousers, hot, sticky come filling his underclothes as he moaned and gasped around a fresh mouthful of Bilbo's skin.

Bilbo followed him, the last bite of Thorin's teeth bringing him to his edge, and Thorin could actually feel the hot wetness of Bilbo's release through the layers of cloth separating them. He wanted to feel it on his skin, to see that moment when Bilbo gave in to his desire, wanted to see the wondrous look on his face as his cock pulsed, leaving his come all over Thorin's belly, his hole clenching ever tighter around Thorin's cock as he came inside him.

His breath came out in a panting wheeze, his legs weakening and his arm shaking with the strain, but he held on, wanting his vision to come true, needing it with every fibre that made up his being. He pushed back, standing fully upright and bringing Bilbo with him, his lips still seeking more of the salty skin on Bilbo's neck. He turned and moved towards the bed, wishing suddenly that his room was a great deal smaller.

He made it to the bed after what felt like forever, as Bilbo tugged his head up and kissed him again. He didn't pull away, laying Bilbo on the bed and following him down, letting his momentum carry him until they were flush together, drinking from Bilbo's lips as if it was the only thing that was keeping him alive.

They kissed slowly, languid and deep and bone achingly tender. Thorin felt his heart clench and surge within his chest, a piece of himself that had long been missing had settled into place once more. But before long, his trousers felt clammy and uncomfortable, and there were far, far too many clothes between them.

He pulled back, looking down at Bilbo's precious face and saw him smiling softly, his eyes filled with the love that Thorin had sought to find there for so long.

“Are you really here?” he asked reverently, one hand coming up to trace the lines of Bilbo's face, eyebrows, cheeks, lips, slipping back across his jaw to trace the outline of his pointed ear. Bilbo shivered, and Thorin couldn't help but smile. He used to find Bilbo's ears so strange, so foreign, and now they were as familiar to him as his own. “Do you really love me?”

“I'm really here,” Bilbo whispered back, his hand reaching up to mirror his touches, tracing his features gently. “I really love you.”

“I can't believe it,” Thorin said, leaning to press his head into Bilbo's.

“Believe it,” Bilbo insisted, tugging him down for another kiss. “I'm here because I missed you and I love you, and I want to be wherever you are, for the rest of my life.”

“I...for so long, I'd hoped that you would...I wanted you to love me so desperately, but I thought you never would.” Thorin could feel the burn of tears behind his eyes, he knew that he wasn't far from losing his control. Bilbo shook him to the core, he always had, and once he'd given himself up to it there was no turning back. When Bilbo had left it was like losing a limb, but now he was whole again, body and spirit.

“I'm sorry, Thorin,” Bilbo said, and Thorin could tell he was struggling as well, his eyes wet and red.

“Don't apologize,” he said roughly, but Bilbo shook his head.

“No, I have to,” he insisted. “I was so sure that I knew everything, that I knew myself. I caused you so much pain when I left, I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that.” He was so full of sadness and regret that it broke Thorin's heart to see it.

“You have nothing to forgive yourself for. You did what you had to do, Bilbo. I never blamed you for leaving, I could never begrudge you your home. I wasn't angry or bitter at all, I wanted you here, and I missed you terribly, but...I couldn't have lived with myself if you chose to stay because of me and not because you wanted to. You needed to go, to find out what you really wanted. If you'd never left, you'd always wonder.”

“You're right, I know you are but...I wish I had stayed, and that we had been together all this time. I wish I hadn't hurt you so much, I'm so sorry, I...”

Thorin kissed him, swallowing the words of regret and apology, pouring all his love and devotion into it, wanting Bilbo to see that it didn't matter. Their time apart didn't matter, not anymore. Not now that they were together again.

Bilbo pulled away at last, a cheeky grin twisting his lips as he tugged, ineffectively at Thorin's torn tunic.

“Your sister sent us in here to undress each other. I think we should follow her advice,” he said, pushing his hips up so Thorin could feel the renewed hardness in Bilbo's trousers.

“Yes, I think we should,” he replied, pulling his tunic off over his head, then working on Bilbo's shirt next. “You are full of good ideas.”

They stopped talking, using all their energy to tug at each others clothing, until they were both naked, both of them hardening quickly, despite having climaxed only moments ago. It had been just enough to take the edge off, to allow them more time to enjoy each other more the second time around.

“I want you inside me so bad, I can taste it,” Bilbo said, his legs wrapping around Thorin's waist once more, this time without the clothes, and it had Thorin coming undone.

“Mahal, Bilbo,” Thorin said, slipping his hands under Bilbo's shoulders and pressing his entire body into Bilbo's, the damp friction between them a tantalizing pleasure.

“Make me yours again, please,” Bilbo panted, pulling Thorin down and kissing him, but Thorin didn't stay for long. He left Bilbo's mouth to slide his own across Bilbo's tender, marked neck, slipping further to taste his collarbone, following the path down Bilbo's body, the path he'd followed the first time, when they'd only just met and even then, Thorin's resistance had been useless, his spirit captured completely.

It was like coming home again, like being alive again. Every nerve in Thorin's body tingled with the thrill of it, every press of his mouth or slide of his tongue made him more aware that it was all true, it was Bilbo in his arms again, it was Bilbo tugging at his hair, Bilbo's legs around his back now, as he made his way down.

He didn't waste any time with teases, taking Bilbo's cock into his mouth and wetting it thoroughly, the salty taste of Bilbo's come filling his mouth deliciously.

He didn't stay there for long, pulling off and moving down further, breathing deeply on every inhale, trying to take the scent and feel of Bilbo into his body as he went, finding at last the puckered hole that had welcomed him in so eagerly, so many times before.

Bilbo's scent was rich and musty with travel, thicker than usual but Thorin didn't care. It was Bilbo, and he wanted to swim in it. He pushed up on Bilbo's legs, spreading him wide and pressing his face into the crease, breathing in deeply before licking a stripe from top to bottom, saliva flowing freely as he tasted every inch, leaving Bilbo wet and slick when he finally pulled back.

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed. Thorin grinned widely as he looked up, over Bilbo's hard cock and spread legs, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with astonished arousal. He nudged Bilbo's sack with his nose, slipping down once more and pushing his tongue inside this time, thrusting in shallowly as Bilbo's hole clenched and relaxed in turn.

He could hear Bilbo above him, babbling his name, begging Thorin for more, pleading, reaching down to tug his hair but unable to get a grip. His legs began to shake, and that is when Thorin pulled back, his own cock heavy and hard with renewed need.

He crawled up, letting his tongue taste as much of Bilbo as he could reach before leaning off to the side and pulling out the vial of oil that was tucked into his bedside table. He'd never imagined using it for this again, his lonely pleasure being its only purpose, but he was excessively grateful that he had it. Now was not the time to search out something to take its place.

“I've never...that was...” Bilbo said, or attempted to say, his pupils wide with shocked lust, his cock dripping sticky onto his navel.

“I've never either,” Thorin replied, pouring some oil onto his fingers, kneeling so he could slip the first digit into Bilbo's relaxed hole, following it quickly with a second.

“Now, now, please Thorin,” Bilbo said, and Thorin found himself unable to wait any longer. He leaned over Bilbo, hands on his thighs, ready to push inside, but he realised that he didn't want to take Bilbo this time. He wanted more, wanted him closer, wanted more than just Bilbo's hole to surround him.

He slid his hands under Bilbo's shoulders and pulled him upright, urging Bilbo into his lap as he sat back, legs in front of himself while Bilbo straddled his waist. Their groins were pressed together, eliciting a hiss from Thorin as their hot, hard flesh brushed and pressed together, the sensation sending a surge of sticky fluid from the tip of his aching cock.

Bilbo's arms came around him, his legs outstretched on either side of Thorin's hips, his lips within kissing distance once more. Thorin kissed him deeply, wet and sloppy and without any finesse as he lifted Bilbo, moving him upwards, letting his cock bob free, only to bring Bilbo back down, grateful that his lover reached back and guided him into place.

A sob of release burst from his lips as he slid home, sheathing his burning flesh in Bilbo's slackened hole, gasping and clenching at Bilbo's body as he slipped deeper, the intimacy of the moment taking him by surprise.

He stilled, breathing harshly as he stared deeply into Bilbo's eyes, his heart there for Thorin to read, his love and desire as plain as words on a page.

“Finally, finally,” Bilbo whispered, his rough, cracking voice the most incredible music Thorin had ever heard, his own voice adding a harmony as he cried out, “yes, yes, Bilbo, needed you so bad...wanted you...please...” It was his turn to babble now, the weight of Bilbo in his arms, the heat of him wrapped around Thorin's cock, wrapped around his body, it was intensely overwhelming, and it wasn't over yet.

He began to thrust up into Bilbo's receptive body, his movements slow and deliberate, the position not allowing for rough, deep thrusts...truthfully, he could not go any deeper, Bilbo's body was stretched to its limits on Thorin's rampant desire.

They moved together, finding a rhythm of motion, of breathing, of clenching hands and searching lips, pulling each other up with every thrust and push, until Thorin was shuddering his release into Bilbo's mouth and his body, Bilbo's cock surging in the space between them, his whimper of completion as arousing a sound as any of his bellowing in times past.

They stilled, holding each other tight, all of their limbs employed in pressing their bodies together, close enough so that they could never be pulled apart again, breathing into each others mouths and souls, shaken by the power of their coupling.

“Amralime,” Thorin whispered weakly, his lips forming the word against Bilbo's lips, feeling more than hearing Bilbo's answer.

“Yes, my beloved,” he said, sucking Thorin's bottom lip inside his mouth, his head lolling as the sweet slackness of release set in.

“You must be exhausted,” Thorin said, realising that Bilbo had been travelling almost steady for a year and a half or more, twisting to the side to bring them both onto the pillow, still wrapped around each other. His cock slipped out when he'd moved, but he made no move to clean them up, and neither did Bilbo, his eyes drifting shut as Thorin pulled the cover over them both, grateful that their lovemaking had dislodged it enough that he hadn't needed to disrupt Bilbo's repose.

Bilbo was breathing deeply against his neck, his body slack in sleep and release, but Thorin was wide awake, every sense, every nerve alive with the fire that Bilbo sparked within him. He lay awake for a long time, breathing in the reality of the Hobbit in his arms, feeling every press of Bilbo's chest as he breathed, every twitch of his muscles in sleep.

“Mahal,” he whispered, his voice broken and rough as tears slipped from his eyes, wetting Bilbo's curls with the release of anguish, the pent up grief and longing that had plagued him since he'd watched Bilbo leave.

“Thank you,” he cried, his body shaking with silent sobs as he repeated the words again and again, his chest filled to bursting with sheer, unadulterated joy. “For bringing him back to me, though I don't deserve it. For letting him love me, for crafting his soul for mine, for Bilbo, oh wise Creator, thank you for Bilbo, my heart, my everything. Thank you, thank you...” he chanted for endless moments, slipping into Khuzdul as he let his desperate gratitude pour forth, his words wet with the tears he could not contain.

He was home in his Hobbit's arms, his heart safe at last in Bilbo's keeping. He closed his eyes and let a deep, restful sleep claim him, his slumber more sound than any he'd experienced, since the last night he'd held Bilbo close.

 

* * *

 

He woke up alone.

He was tangled in the coverings, blankets and sheets wound together in his thrashing, the rough motions that had woken him. It was cold in the room, he'd forgotten to light a fire, so the bed was cold as well, and a sliver of ice lodged itself into Thorin's heart.

“It was not a dream,” he whispered, searching the room desperately for any sign of Bilbo, anything that could confirm that his desperate mind had not conjured up visions of what wasn't there.

He shot out of the bed, his frantic heart pounding so hard that he feared his chest would burst, hope cresting on a wave and then falling as he realised that there was no one there. There was no sign of any other in the room, whether clothing or trinket, nothing that could tell him if he'd truly lost his mind, the lack of Bilbo in his life, in his bed, finally pushing him over the edge into lunacy.

“Bilbo?” he called, his voice cracking on the name that had haunted him for so long.

“Thorin?”

His head snapped around, his body following too quickly, he stumbled as his heart stopped, fear and despair crashing down as joy lifted him up once more.

Bilbo padded out of the bathroom, naked but for the towel he was using to dry his messy curls, his skin clean and shiny from a recent bath.

“I love that bathroom! The tub is divine,” Bilbo said, stopping as he took in Thorin's wide eyes and heaving chest. “Thorin, what is it?”

“I thought it was a dream,” he said, gasping for breath as the vision of Bilbo moved closer, shockingly real as he took Thorin's hand and kissed it. Thorin slid to his knees, wrapping his arms around Bilbo's slight frame, pressing his face into him, breathing harshly to steady his aching heart.

“It's not,” Bilbo said, running his hands through Thorin's hair in a soothing manner, smoothing back the messy strands with care, the towel forgotten on the floor beside them. “I'm right here, Thorin. I told you this morning, remember? I'm never leaving you again.”

“I remember,” Thorin said, leaning back to look up at Bilbo's beautiful, precious face, his heart slowing as it sank in. Bilbo was real. He was here, and he wasn't going anywhere. “I remember,” he repeated, smiling wider than he'd ever done before, tugging Bilbo down and kissing him once more.

It was true. It was real. Bilbo was here, and at long, long, last, Thorin's real life could begin.

 

* * *

 

After several more rounds of vigorous lovemaking, taking time out to eat the meal that had been delivered to their door, a quick knock the only thing to advise them if its presence, Bilbo lay boneless and complete in Thorin's arms. The smile that adorned his face was both lazy and joyful, his skin prickling with sensation as Thorin pulled him closer, tucking Bilbo into his chest. He could hear Thorin's heart beating steadily against his back as their bodies cooled, and pure, sweet exhaustion settled in to Bilbo's limbs.

It was an exhaustion he welcomed wholeheartedly, one that he wanted to experience again and again in the future, the years to come merging in his mind, one blissful day after another on the path that lay ahead.

It was a path they would take together, and this time Bilbo wouldn't have to catch up. He'd be right beside Thorin, where he belonged.


End file.
